The Hidden Courtyard
by theicemenace
Summary: Years ago, Natasha found a secret place to just be herself. But, when that place was invaded, she found her life turned upside down. Fifteen years later, she's again dealing with the events of that summer.
1. Chapter 1

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 1**

Morning always brought with it the promise of a new day. Sun glistening off the ocean, a warm breezed caressing the waves in the same way a woman ruffles her man's hair on a lazy afternoon. Softly, gently and with great affection.

Clouds, puffy white cotton balls, flitted across a sky in random patterns. This one looked like a giant cartoon mouse, that one a chocolate bar, and a third was unmistakably Albert Einstein smoking a hookah.

The beauty, however, was lost on the woman dressed in gym clothes sitting beside a sandy-haired man in baggy shorts and sneakers with his shirt off, their workout done for the day. The man, Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye, drank from a water bottle while his partner, Natasha Romanoff AKA the Black Widow, ignored her own beside her on the conning tower.

She was also ignoring the question Clint asked. Or trying to, even knowing that he wouldn't let it go, hounding her until he had an answer that satisfied him.

"Well?" He used the T-shirt to wipe perspiration from his face and chest, sniffed it, made a face, and dropped it beside him. Hoping he would get bored and go away, Natasha turned sideways, showing him her back in a display of disdain. No such luck. "Na-at?"

Feigning forgetfulness, she asked "What was the question again?"

"Have you ever been in love?" It really annoyed Natasha when Clint used that falsely patient tone.

"Why do you want to know?" She was stalling and he knew it. And she knew he knew it, but they played the game anyway.

One shoulder lifted and dropped as he took another long swig of water. "Curious."

Clint was happily hooked-up with a pilot he met while they were both recuperating in the medical bay after Loki and the Chitauri invasion over Manhattan and wanted his best friend to be happily hooked up as well. Not fooled by the offhand comment, she let her thoughts drift back through the years like a fast moving train, screeching to a halt at early summer the year she turned fifteen. Or rather the year she'd been _told_ she was fifteen. Her life was filled with so many lies that she didn't know what was true and what had been made up by Dr. Petrovitch and his staff or her own mind to explain incongruities. Such as why her birth certificate said she was twenty-nine when she clearly remembered a time prior to that.

Natasha remembered that summer as if she were living it now. Unlike some of her memories, clouded as they were by the intense physical and mental "training" she'd received on Petrovitch's orders, this was clear and sharply detailed, almost too much so.

**Stalingrad**

**Many Years Ago**

Glancing over her shoulder to make certain she hadn't been followed Natalia crept through the forest behind the dormitory. Stumps, fallen logs and tangled underbrush were non-existent to one with her speed and agility. Eventually, she reached a rusted iron gate set into a stone fence that could barely be seen through the overgrowth of weeds and vines. It sat adjacent to the ruins of a once noble castle that had crumbled in on itself filling in the dungeon and leaving little of its former glory above ground. Just a few walls and this courtyard remained. Hidden from sight unless you knew where and how to look.

She'd seen this place for the first time several weeks ago after being told by the doctors she would never be able to bear children. Uncertain of her feelings, she'd gone for a long hike, literally stumbling upon the ruins.

It had become a haven, a sanctuary from the rest of the world. It had taken weeks to clear the weeds and vines growing there. Her labor brought unintended results. Benches appeared, placed far enough apart that one could have privacy even if others were present. Statues with their features worn down over time looked at nothing. From the placement of the stone paths, there had once been a maze of hedges in the center and fountains that long ago stopped spouting water.

Here, she could be anyone or anything imaginable. An opera singer, a famous actress being wined and dined by the elite of Russian society, a rocket scientist or even a doctor discovering a cure for cancer or diabetes, a psychologist curing bi-polar disease.

Today, she was a ballet dancer dressed all in white with splashes of purple adorning the bodice and the drop waist of her frilly tutu as she performed _The Sleeping Beauty_. As Princess Aurora, Natalia pirouetted, leaped and frolicked around the courtyard, her movements lithe, flowing easily from one step to the next showing off the grace and elegance that was an essential part of her. The stone statue on a raised dais in the center played the part of Prince Désiré.

Act I ended with the princess being carried off to bed, a stone bench taking the place of the royal bedchamber. Natalia lay down, her head pillowed on her arms and eyes closed. It was so quiet and peaceful here in her hidden courtyard that she'd nearly drifted off to sleep when the sound of clapping startled her. She sat up, turning her head looking for the source.

"_Krasivyy__!_" The voice was male, belonging to a young man no more than seventeen with unruly dark hair and even darker eyes. His clothing was well worn but clean, his hands calloused and stained from the hard labor he performed on a daily basis. He smiled, a single held flower in his right hand. With a bow, he presented it to her, "I am humbled in your presence, m'lady."

She accepted the flower as her due and curtsied, extending one delicate hand. "You're too kind, sir. May I know your name?"

Grasping her fingers, he lifted her hand to brush his lips over the knuckles while keeping his eyes on her. "Alas, I cannot say."

"Why is that?" she asked coyly, opening an imaginary fan and fluttering it under her chin. His hand was rough and warm, the heat traveling up her arm, making her want to snatch it away. She was never nervous _or_ shy, yet his gaze, steady and unblinking, inexplicably made her both.

"For you are the exquisite Carlotta Brianza and I a lowly petitioner," he bowed low, "at your service, and my name is not worthy to be spoken by one such as yourself."

"What if I were _not_ Carlotta, but Natalia, a humble student?"

He released her hand, reluctantly it seemed, both going behind him in the accepted attitude of respect taught to all children from a young age. "If that be the case, then my name is Anton and I remain," he bowed again, just his head this time, "at your service."

Scooting to one end of the bench so Anton could join her, Natalia reached over and drew out the backpack. From it, she took a plastic bag containing two cookies, offering one to her guest. And that's how she thought of him. This was _her_ place, not his, and she would make certain he understood.

He accepted her offering with a smile, biting off a piece and chewing slowly, savoring the taste.

"Do you live around here, Anton?"

"Not far. My father owns the butcher shop in town, and though he would have me follow in his footsteps, Mother has decided that she wants more for her only child. In the fall, I will be attending the university at Kursk as a medical student."

Impressed and not wanting to show it, Natalia brushed crumbs from her hands and the front of her pants. "What specialty will you be studying?"

"Oncology, I think. Or family medicine. Haven't decided. What about you?"

"I'm a student at an all-girl boarding school." Natalia smiled. "Would you like to see something?"

He accepted her change of subject without question, standing when she did. "Of course."

Before, when he'd first approached, she'd been sitting. Now that they were side by side she could see that he was nearly a foot taller, muscular and lean, with skin darkened by the sun.

Ducking her head so he couldn't see her eyes, she led the way to the far end of the courtyard where a fountain crouched in the corner. Beside it, a stone staircase curved up and around far above their heads, the top disappearing into the trees. "In my dreams, they're a golden stairway to the stars." Spreading her arms out to the side, she spun in a circle. "There, gravity is something for mere mortals. Oxygen is unnecessary and I fly with the angels on wings of the purest white."

Anton chuckled. "Have you climbed them?"

"No." Her smile faded. "If I did, then I would be forced to deal with the reality that they end abruptly with a long drop to the ground."

"And one should never allow reality to get in the way of dreams." It was said with an impertinent lift of one eyebrow.

"Exactly." Natalia looked down at her feet then up into his eyes, this time meeting them boldly. "Will you be coming back?"

"Depends. Will the fair Carlotta be performing again?"

Her smile came back. "I think she might be persuaded, for the right price of course."

Crossing his arms, Anton gave it careful thought. "What if I were to present her with my mother's _kolachkis_."

"In that case, she'll be here in three days at this same time." And before he could say another word, Natalia jogged toward the gate, grabbing her backpack on the way out.

~~O~~

Crouched in the corner beside the heavy wooden cabinet, Natalia waited for Liska and her helper to leave. Each day, they took two one-hour breaks, one in the morning and another after lunch.

The slamming of the door announced to Natalia that the kitchen was now empty. Tiptoeing to the refrigerator, she took out a bottle of milk that was less than half full and retrieved two glasses from the cabinet, stashing it all inside her backpack which she shrugged into as she went out the back door.

She raced through the forest, stopping fifty yards from the courtyard to catch her breath and smooth a hand through her shoulder length hair to remove any twigs or brambles. Putting on a smile, she walked the rest of the way at a leisurely pace, just a young woman out for a stroll. The gate stood open, but only because Anton blocked it from closing. With a sweep of his hand, he ushered her inside. "Hi."

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Just arrived. My father kept finding more and more chores for me to do until I told him I had an appointment."

A small paper bag lay on the bench. Good. He hadn't forgotten. Taking a seat, she held the backpack in her lap. "Did you say with whom?"

"He was too busy with customers to ask and as I'll be eighteen in a few months, I don't feel obliged to share my plans with him." Opening the bag, he took out two napkins and four cookies while she poured the milk.

She took a bite of the _kolachki_, chewed and swallowed. "Tell me about university. Will you be living on the campus?"

A small animal scurried across the path in front of them. Anton watched it go then returned his gaze to Natalia. "My mother's younger sister lives nearby. I'll stay with her and come home on holidays. Much like what you do."

"I live at the school year round."

"Why is that?"

Her smile turned sad. "I don't have a family. Just the other girls and the staff."

He was quiet for a moment, thinking he'd insulted her. "I'm sorry."

Shrugging, she finished off the last of her milk, wiped away the drops clinging to her lips and wadded the paper napkin into a ball. "Don't be. I have very few memories of my parents. All I know is that they died in a house fire when I was a child."

They sank into a companionable silence, both lost in thought, until he startled her when he spoke, but only because she'd forgotten he was there.

"What books do you like to read?"

"Our schedules are very regimented leaving little time for hobbies like reading for pleasure." That was a lie, but one she felt she could get away with.

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Life is too short to studying all the time. One must also have fun." He said it with authority, daring her to disagree. "After seeing you dance, I find it hard to believe that you don't know how to enjoy yourself."

It took all her will power not to blush. "I come here to be alone. To think."

"To dance? And I intruded on your solitude. You should've said something."

"I don't mind sharing." Deciding that the conversation was getting too personal, she returned to the subject of hobbies. "What are your other hobbies? Aside from accosting young women."

Natalia said it with a slight upturn of her lips to show that she was teasing. They spent hours discussing whatever subject occurred to them or just sitting quietly, letting the world turn, and when the sky darkened, they parted, going in opposite directions.

~~O~~

Weeks went by, summer's end approached and with it the reality that Anton would soon be leaving for university. As close as they'd become, Natalia wasn't certain how she felt about that, but didn't spend an inordinate amount of time pondering it either. She and the other girls at the facility weren't encouraged to display extreme emotions such as joy, fear, anguish, delight, hate…or love.

Ignoring the facts of a situation wouldn't make them any less so. Today, she would ask Anton to write her while away. His answer would tell her all she needed to know about his feelings toward her, and maybe that would help sort out her emotions as well.

At first she didn't see him as she stepped into the courtyard. _Their_ courtyard, she corrected in her mind. Over the time they'd spent together, this had become their place whether they were together or apart. Their spirits dwelt here even when they were absent.

Then, he stepped from behind a bush bursting with an abundance of fragrant green leaves, both hands out of sight behind his back. As she neared, his smile grew, as did hers. His right hand revealed that it held a bouquet of the purple flowers. "It's good to see you, Natalia."

"And you Anton. I forgot the cookies."

"You're forgiven." He extended his other hand, taking hers and drawing her toward the center of the courtyard where he'd spread a blanket. A wicker basket sat on one end. Handing her the flowers, he invited her to sit, taking a seat across from her and opening the basket. "I thought we might have a picnic today. Nothing elaborate. Just sandwiches, fruit and tea."

"Sounds wonderful. I didn't have lunch today." What Natalia didn't tell Anton was the reason for not having eaten. She'd performed poorly on one of her physical assessments, and Dr. Petrovitch had forbidden Liska to feed her. It hadn't been the first time. Since meeting this charming young man, her studies seemed less and less important. A situation that did not set well with her mentor-his word, not hers.

When their meal was over, Natalia leaned back on her hands, eyes closed and her face turned upward to catch the sun. Anton moved next to her, and when she looked, he was on his back watching the clouds drift across the blue sky. Feeling greatly daring, she lay down as well leaving barely two inches between them.

The sun and a full stomach conspired to make her sleepy. She covered the yawn as best she could, but Anton still saw it. He slipped his arm under her neck, urging her to lay her head on his shoulder. It didn't take much coaxing as she'd wanted to be close to him for a while now, but hadn't dared.

He brushed the hair from her forehead and planted a kiss there. "I missed you these last two weeks."

"I missed you too." He didn't ask and she didn't volunteer that she'd been "on vacation" for two weeks because she had been out of the country on her first solo assignment as an assassin. The beginning had been a round of briefings on the operation and just four days ago, she made her first kill. Though she'd been trained from the age of seven for just this purpose, it hadn't been as easy to pull the trigger on a live target as it had at practice. "When are you leaving for university?"

"Not for several weeks yet. Why?"

"Would you…would you write to me while you're gone?" Natalia's hand rested on his chest, the vibrations of his laughter traveling up her arm giving her a warm and hazy feeling all across her upper body.

"Not a very good saleswoman, are you?"

Rising up on her elbow, she looked down at him with a frown. "Excuse me?"

Mirroring her position, he smiled, his dark eyes roaming over her face, seeming to see into the very depths of her. That wasn't possible because if he did, he would know the kind of person she really was and wouldn't want anything to do with her.

"Try saying it again, but without the question."

Relieved, she smiled and shook her head at the silliness of the conversation. She was never shy or tentative with anyone except him. "You _will_ write to me while you're gone."

"There. Was that so hard? I will, but only if you promise to write back."

"Of course." Again, Anton's eyes darted over her features, stopping on her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned toward her as she leaned toward him. There was a breathless moment of anticipation then their lips touched for the first time. Older than her by three years, he'd likely done this before, but it was her first time kissing someone who was not a "mark." She'd learned to mimic enjoyment when the man invaded her mouth with his tongue all slippery with saliva and tasting of cigars and alcohol. But with Anton, there was no demands, no intrusion. Just the feel of his warm mouth on hers along with the taste of the sweet tea.

He pulled back and smiled, and she echoed it. Then, he lay down again, and she resumed her place against his side with her head on his shoulder.

The warmth of the sun and the chirruping of crickets lulled them both to sleep, and when they awoke, the sun had nearly slipped below the horizon. At the gate, Anton drew her into his arms and kissed her again before letting go. She ran back to the dormitory as fast as she could. Still, she was too late for the evening meal and had to go without dinner. But she didn't care. The meal shared with Anton was enough to keep her going until breakfast.

It was almost a week before Natalia could get away again to visit the hidden courtyard and Anton. This time she brought a surprise. His comment about taking time to have fun had hit home, sending her to the library where she checked out a book that Dr. Petrovitch would never have approved of: _Jane Eyre_.

The courtyard was empty when she arrived. Taking a seat, she pulled out the book and opened it to the first page. She'd only read to the midway point when Anton came in, the creak of the iron gate loud to her ears. Her pulse quickened when they saw each other. Setting the book aside, she rushed into his arms, her head against his chest where she could hear the steady thump-thump of his heart. He laid his cheek momentarily on top of her head and when she looked up at him, he smiled and dropped a lingering kiss on her mouth.

Taking his hand, she led him to their bench, the place where they would sit together and talk or just sit and be still. "I've decided my life needs more fun in it."

"Oh? And what brought you to that conclusion?"

Smiling, she poked him in the chest. "A friend pointed it out recently and I realized he was right. So…" opening the book, she turned to the first page, "…I'm going to read to you."

Swinging his legs over the armrest, he laid his head in her lap. "Proceed."

Clearing her throat, Natalia held the book with one hand while the other hovered uncertainly until Anton placed it on his chest.

"_There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so somber, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question.__I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed…_"

~~O~~

The next time Natalia and Anton met in their hidden courtyard, he read to her, his arm around her shoulders. She with her feet tucked and eyes closed. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving her defenses down, but Anton made her feel things she'd never experienced before. With him, she would be safe. With him, she felt a sense of security that had been lacking in her life until now.

The sound of the hard cover of the book snapping shut jolted her from the light doze she'd settle into. "Oh! Sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep."

One side of his mouth grinned in that charming way he had showing off the small indention in his cheek. "It was fine until you started to snore."

Outraged, she sat up on her knees beside him, red hair flying. "I do _not_ snore!"

"Either that or someone came through here with a chainsaw a few minutes ago. Ow!" She punched him in the arm, holding back most of her power so she wouldn't actually hurt him, but still he mock cowered from her blows.

Then, suddenly, he took hold of her wrists, pulling her inexorably in his direction, and because she wanted to be close to him, she let it happen. He laid her across his lap, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. Behind the gentleness, she could feel that he wanted more, much more. And right then, she would've given him anything he wanted.

Eventually, he released her. Getting to his feet, he looked at the ground. "I, uh, I should get back before my father sends out a search party."

"O-of course. Three days?" It was the same every time they parted. She would say, "Three days?"

And his reply would always be, "Yes, but it will feel like forever." But this time it was different. He performed the ritual perfectly, then took it to another level by adding, "I love you, Natalia."

~~O~~

The morning of the day she would see Anton again finally showed its face over the horizon. She liked this feeling of expectancy and eagerness, wondering if this was what love, _real_ love felt like. The last lines of a sonnet danced inside her head every time she thought about Anton.

_For one is both and both are one in love: _

_Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine;' _

_Both have the strength and both the length thereof, _

_Both of us, of the love which makes us one._

Out on the obstacle course, Natalia ran, jumped, swung and climbed like she hadn't in weeks, faster and with greater precision, crossing the finish line to the click of the stopwatch certain this would be her best time.

Instead of his usual place in a chair under the large poplar tree, Dr. Petrovitch stood beside the coach, the two of them talking quietly. Petrovitch turned, pinning her with his gaze. Then one hand came up and motioned for her to follow him. He led her away from the main buildings toward the garden where Liska grew herbs and vegetables. Her husband was sent on his way with a sharp gesture from Petrovitch.

"I've heard rumors, Natalia. Unsettling stories about you and a boy from town."

Natalia's breath caught in her throat. How could he know? She hadn't told a soul. And Anton wouldn't kiss her so passionately then brag to his friends.

"You're not to see him again. Is that understood?" Petrovitch tilted his head forward, watching her over the tops of his glasses, his eyes piercing.

Since being here, she'd done everything that had been demanded of her without question or complaint. And now that she'd carved a small slice of heaven away from the rigorous training and preparation for the duty that would become her life, he wanted to take it away. "Why?"

"Because _I_ command it. That's why."

His voice had taken on a hard edge Natalia had seldom heard, and those times that she had, she'd cringed in fear. But no more. This was _her_ life. Not _his_. _She_ would be the one to say when and where and with whom. No one else. Old habits die hard, and she found herself standing with her back erect, hands clasped behind her back and chin held high. "_No!_ He loves me, and I love him."

"Love is for children. And you are _not_ a child."

"Love is for _everyone_. Anton and I are meant to be together. We _will_ be together. Always."

To her surprise, Petrovitch laughed. Not how one did when something was genuinely funny. But harshly. A sound meant to wound, and it did. "You actually believe you have a choice."

"I _do_. I am Natalia Romanova, and I _won't_ be bullied by _you_ or anyone else ever again."

Turning on her heel, Natalia had only gone a few steps when he said, "Are you sure of that? Are you absolutely certain that your name is Natalia Romanova? Perhaps it's Tatiana Kozlov. Maybe Brigitte Vénard or Molly McKinney?"

Recognizing the aliases she'd used during her last three missions, she faced him, wanting to knock the gloating, smug grin from his face. Her chin came up again. "_Natalia_ is the name my parents gave me. I remember my mother saying…"

"You remember what _I_ wish for you to remember. Nothing more, nothing less." He advanced on her, the mocking grin gone, replaced by silent fury. "You are what _I_ made you to be, and I can unmake you just as easily. If you defy me, his body will be found in the forest by hunters, most of his flesh having been eaten by wolves. He will live, but only if you do as you're told today, tomorrow and in the future." His vice was brutal, cruel, punishing.

Petrovitch stalked away leaving her standing beside the rows of basil, rosemary and thyme. She had no doubt that he would do as he threatened. So, to save Anton's life, she must break his heart…and her own.

She arrived in the courtyard at the usual time, glad that Anton wasn't there yet. Waiting for him would give her time to think about what to say. It was best to just get it over with. Say the words and leave, but the moment she saw him, they stuck in her throat. Instead of sending him away, she ran toward him, throwing herself into his arms and holding on tight. Stepping out of his arms, she kept hold of his hand. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"I'm ready to take the stairway to the stars, and want you with me."

Together they walked to the far end of the courtyard, pausing at the bottom of the steps before starting the climb. The stairs went much higher than Natalia had imagined, curving around and around until she could no longer see the courtyard, coming to an abrupt stop against the trunk of a tree that had grown on the soil scattered by the wind. Turning, they looked out over the forest and just for a moment, Natalia imagined that it was their wedding day. They would pledge their life and love to each other then seal it with a kiss.

As if he'd been reading her mind again, Anton tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the side of her neck as he bent down to kiss her. Because it was for the last time, she savored it. Savored him. His taste, his touch, and the unique scent that surrounded him.

At the bottom of the staircase, he paused to consider the statues that had once been a part of the fountain. To break the silence, Natalia said, "I've spent many hours wondering what the artist was thinking to have left them faceless."

Anton shrugged, the material of his shirt rough where it touched her bicep. "Perhaps it was to force us to use our minds, to create our own ideas of what they should look like instead of having someone else's notions imposed."

"I hadn't thought of it that way." Tilting her head to the side, she reconsidered the stone carvings. In her mind's eye, the statues blurred, their features changing…until they became _her_ face. And for one of the few times in her life, she felt fear. Fear that she was as faceless as the statues, without an identity of her own, just as Petrovitch said she was. Dropping Anton's hand, she turned her back on him as the sounds of the forest gave way to ringing in her ears.

Then, she began to run, blindly, swerving around the obstacles in her path by instinct. As if from a great distance, she heard her name being called, but she ignored it and kept running.

From the courtyard and its faceless statues.

From Anton, who saw things no one should.

But no matter how fast she moved, the one thing she couldn't outrun was herself.

**Present Day**

Natasha swept up the water bottle, took a long drink, carefully replaced the top and held it in her hand. "Love is for children."

Getting to her feet, she ignored Clint calling her name, clambered down the ladder to the catwalk then from there she took the stairs to the lift. In her room, she stripped off her sweaty clothes, showered then returned to change into khakis, hiking boots, a blue top made of wicking fabric and a light jacket. She shoved clothes into a duffle bag, settled it on her shoulder and headed for the deck. On the way, she told Hill to take her off the books for at least the next week.

Hours later, she climbed from the quinjet onto the tarmac of the Volgograd Airport and entered the terminal. There, she rented a four-wheel drive vehicle, aiming it in the direction of the north end of town. When she reached her destination, she found the buildings still as they were the last time she saw them though now they were barely recognizable under the weeds and vines. At the time she left the 2R facility, she'd set a fire that burned the buildings to the ground. Somewhere in the ashes lay the bones of Ivan Petrovitch. The fire hadn't been set to cover up that she'd killed him, but to destroy the facility.

But that wasn't why she was here.

Parking around the side where the dormitory used to be, she set the brake and climbed out, ignoring the sense of nostalgia that swept over her. From the front seat she took a small backpack that contained a thermos and a plastic wrapped package.

Natasha hadn't been here since she was a teen, yet she still remembered the way to the hidden courtyard. Stopping a few yards from the gate, she reflected that it hadn't really changed that much.

She stepped inside expecting to see the hidden courtyard filled with weeds, vines, small animals and even a few trees. But such was not the case. The courtyard had been meticulously maintained over the years, still retaining the former charm. If she squinted with her mind, she could see the ghosts of the former residents still haunting the ruins.

Going to the bench, the one she still saw as hers and Anton's, Natasha took out a small package of cookies, Oreos, of course. Next, she poured milk into a cup and sat there munching and sipping until they were gone.

Brushing the crumbs from her hands, she stood. Closing her eyes, she swayed side to side, listening to music only she could hear. She allowed her subconscious to take over, and as on that fateful day, she danced, ending with a graceful bow for her adoring audience, startled when someone clapped.

"_Krasivyy__!_"

The voice was male and very familiar, yet instinct led her to reach for one of the many weapons hidden beneath her clothes. When he stepped into the sunlight, the air surrounding her became thick and heavy, almost choking her. She forced her lungs to do their work, and the lightheadedness faded away.

Standing before her as if the intervening years hadn't happened was a man with unruly dark hair, shorter now with a hint of gray at the temples. His eyes were just as dark and all-seeing as before, with gentle lines at the corners and around his mouth indicating that he smiled. A lot.

And as he'd done that first day, he bowed. "I am humbled in your presence, m'lady Carlotta." Bringing himself upright again, he smiled and his cheeks dimpled. "It's good to see you again, Natalia."

The replay of their first meeting over, Natasha took a step in his direction and another, stopping close enough to touch him if she wanted to. Close enough to feel the warmth from his body and inhale his scent. She did so, exhaling slowly, not realizing that she'd closed her eyes until she opened them again. "It's good to see you too, Anton."

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 2**

Whack-_thunk_! Whack-_thunk_! Whack-_thunk_!

The sound of metal slicing through animal flesh and hitting the table underneath, ever-present in his father's butcher shop, barely registered on Anton's annoyance scale. Not so the sound of those same metal knives scraping over the oil stone or sharpening steel. The metal on stone or metal on metal scraping grated on his nerves, made his teeth ache. To spare his son's sanity, Sergei would do his sharpening while Anton made deliveries.

Seventeen-year old Anton waited for his father to finish cutting pork chops, swept them from the table, paper and all, and carried them to another table where they were wrapped according to the invoices held down by a chunk of petrified wood.

His mother, still young and slender in her early forties, busied herself with passing a combination of chuck, round and sirloin through the mincer to make ground beef. Later, if they received a special order, she would grind chicken, pork or turkey in the same way.

"Anton!"

His mother's voice came from the back of the preparation area where she was now washing the mincer. A reminder that it was time to unlock the front door. As always, there were several customers already waiting. He held the door, nodding greetings to each as they entered. The mail delivery came at the same time. He sorted it and, finding one addressed to himself, he shoved it into his back pocket. He returned behind the counter to assist with the customers. Most were regulars who had their favorite cuts and orders so it didn't take long to handle their purchases.

"Anton, take down the old specials and put out the new ones," his father shouted from the back.

"Doing it now, _Papa_!" he returned with the same volume and tone. A grin touched his face for several reasons. First of all, he'd already started the task his father asked, and secondly, he imagined the irritated expression on the older man's face. His father hated that he preferred the American version of "Father" rather than "Otets" in his native Russian.

With a pair of scissors, he cut the paper on which he'd written the weekly specials, carried it over and taped it to the inside of the window. Beside each item he'd drawn a reasonable facsimile of each that amused the customers and made his mother sigh.

Business stayed steady until lunchtime when his parents closed from one until two. During that time, he usually took a sandwich to eat on his walk through the forest.

When the last customer finally left, Anton locked the door, grabbed the food his mother had made for him and left by the back door. Instead of taking his usual route, he decided to just let his feet go where they wanted.

It turned out to be a brilliant idea because today yielded something new: a hidden courtyard. He strolled the interior munching on his sandwich, and shoving the empty wrapper into his pocket while examining a bas relief on one wall. The sound of the rusted gate opening and closing startled him out of his thoughts. Peeking through the leaves of a bush he saw a beautiful young girl standing near a bench. To his great surprise and pleasure, she began to hum the music from _The Sleeping Beauty_ as she danced the first act. He knew it well because it was his mother's favorite ballet, and being a dutiful son, he accompanied her so his father could spend the evening with his cronies drinking beer and playing cards.

The girl-she couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen-had red hair down to her shoulders and a petite yet surprisingly powerful shape. Even in hiking boots, she moved with a lithe grace that professional dancers would envy.

Anton realized he should let the girl know she wasn't alone. But watching her…he was enchanted and stayed hidden until the end of the first act when Princess Aurora was taken to her bedchamber. Resting her head on her folded arms with her legs curled in toward her chest, she looked like a cat enjoying the warmth of a patch of sun on a brisk morning. Plucking a flower from the few growing close to the wall, he wished it were a bouquet of red roses.

She stayed in that sleeping pose and he knew it was past time to announce himself. Stepping out into view, he applauded the performance while keeping his distance so she wouldn't feel threatened. "_Krasivyy__!_"

She sat up so abruptly that he was certain she'd have hit him had he been close enough. With a bow, he presented the pitiful blossom to her, "I am humbled in your presence, m'lady."

Accepting the flower with a benign smile and a curtsy, she extending one delicate hand and using the same formal tone, "You're too kind, sir. May I know your name?"

Grasping her fingers, he kissed the knuckles, keeping his eyes focused on her face. "Alas, I cannot say."

"Why is that?" she asked coyly, opening an imaginary fan and fluttering it under her chin. Her hand was soft and delicate, as if he could break it with a hard word spoken out of turn.

"For you are the exquisite Carlotta Brianza and I a lowly petitioner," he bowed low, "at your service, and my name is not worthy to be spoken by one such as yourself."

Now she smiled showing straight, white teeth. "What if I were _not_ Carlotta, but Natalia, a humble student?"

He released her reluctantly then held his hands behind him in an attitude of respect. "If that is the case, then my name is Anton and I remain," he inclined his head, "at your service."

Natalia moved to one end of the bench inviting him to join her. She reached over the back of the bench and drew out a backpack. From it, she took a plastic bag containing two cookies, offering one to him. Before she knew he was here, she seemed to be more open and uninhibited. Now, she held herself defensively telling him that he'd intruded on her private place.

"Do you live around here, Anton?"

"Not far. My father owns the butcher shop in town, and though he would have me follow in his footsteps, Mother has decided that she wants more for her only child. In the fall, I'll be attending the university at Kursk as a medical student." The letter that had come in the mail today was his class schedule for the first semester. To pass the classes, he would have to study hard with little time for idle pursuits.

"Have you chosen a specialty?"

Anton had to give her high marks for at least pretending to be interested in him and his life. "Oncology, I think. Or family medicine. What about you?"

"I attend an all-girl boarding school." Natalia smiled sadly though he doubted she realized it. "Would you like to see something?"

He accepted the sudden change of subject, standing when she did. "Of course."

Standing beside her, he realized that she was shorter than he'd first believed, barely more than five feet. Keeping his gaze on her, he was surprised when she looked away nervously. At the far end of the courtyard, a long dead fountain clogged with roots and vines sat long forgotten. A stone staircase covered in moss curved up and around way above their heads, farther than he could see from this angle.

"In my dreams, they're a golden stairway to the stars." Spreading her arms out to the side, she spun in a circle, now childlike. "There, gravity is something for mere mortals. Oxygen is unnecessary and I fly with the angels on wings of the purest white."

Anton chuckled. "Have you climbed them?"

"No." Her smile faded. "If I did, then I would be forced to deal with the reality that they end abruptly with a long drop to the ground."

"And one should never allow reality to get in the way of dreams."

Smiling, she agreed with him. Natalia looked down at her feet then up again, this time meeting his gaze boldly. "Will you be coming back?"

Cocking his head to the side, he contemplated how to answer that question in a way that would keep her coming back as well. "Depends. Will the fair Carlotta be performing again?"

Her smile showed up again, like the sun after a summer shower. "I think she might be persuaded, for the right price of course."

Crossing his arms, Anton gave it careful thought. "What if I were to present her with my mother's _kolachkis_?"

"In that case, she'll be here in three days at this same time." And before he could say another word, Natalia jogged toward the gate, grabbing her backpack on the way out.

~~O~~

The time he spent in this courtyard with Natalia was miraculous. He should've known by the color of her hair she'd have those astonishing hazel eyes that seemed to know everything he was thinking, and didn't care that he was having immodest thoughts about the two of them. Not that he would ever act on them, but there were two truths he couldn't get away from. He, like all males his age, was a mass of walking hormones, and Natalia was a beautiful girl.

Natalia was also a study in contradictions. Bold and confident one moment. Shy and reserved the next. He found those qualities quite appealing. Another thing about her that he found intriguing was the sharpness of her mind. She knew so much about…so much. When he spoke of becoming a doctor, she asked questions that showed the depth of that knowledge.

The sound of running footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Going to the gate, he held it open as she approached. At first he thought she'd changed her mind, yet here she was. He smiled a greeting.

Sitting on the bench, she poured milk while he opened the bag with the _kolachkis_, giving her two and keeping the others for himself.

They talked about when he would leave for university, how he would live with his aunt and her family to save the expense of the dormitory, coming home for holidays and breaks. As always, their conversation came easy, a layer of bantering with an undertone of affection. He liked her, very much. And though she took pains to hide it, she liked him as well.

Her smile dimmed and some of the sparkle went out of her eyes when she said, "I don't have a family. Just the other girls and the staff."

Anton was quiet for a moment, thinking he'd insulted her. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. I have very few memories of my parents. All I know is that they died in a house fire when I was a child."

They sank into a companionable silence, both lost in thought until he asked, "What books do you like to read?"

"Our schedules are very regimented leaving little time for reading strictly for pleasure."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Life is too short to studying all the time. One must also have fun." He said it with authority, daring her to disagree. "After seeing you dance, I find it hard to believe that you don't know how to enjoy yourself."

A slight tinge of pink colored her cheeks. "I come here to be alone. To think."

"To dance? And I intruded on your solitude. You should've said something."

"I don't mind sharing." Shrugging away his implied apology, she asked, "What are your other hobbies? Aside from accosting young women."

It was said with a slight upturn of her lips to show she was teasing. They spent the next few hours talking about a variety of subjects and again he was surprised at her ability to speak intelligently on so many topics. The sun dipped toward the horizon darkening the sky. He walked with her to the gate, watching her disappear into the forest.

~~O~~

Days turned into weeks, and with each setting of the sun, Anton was more and more certain that what he felt for Natalia was more than mere friendship. It was not just a summer romance, but the forever and ever kind of love. He wouldn't give up his dream of becoming a doctor, and he would never think of asking her to wait for him, yet somehow, he knew, that when the time came for them to be together for a lifetime, she would be there.

Going into the pantry, he took down the wicker basket, filling it with sandwiches, fresh fruit and a thermos of sweet tea. Lastly, he folded a blanket and shoved it in on top of the food. At the door, he shouted, "I'm leaving,_ Matushka_!"

"Be home before dark, my son. And don't slam the…"

Closing the door hard on his way out, Anton grinned at his mother's huff of frustration. He sometimes slammed the door just to annoy. She knew and responded in the appropriate manner. To make up for it, he would be extra careful the rest of the day. He was nothing if not a thoughtful son.

He planned on arriving at the hidden courtyard before Natalia, and was relieved that she was not in evidence. Taking the blanket from the basket, he grasped one edge and shook the folds out, spreading it on the ground in front of their bench.

On the way through the forest, he'd picked a bouquet of blossoms in her favorite color. The bright purple petals were so delicate in appearance, yet strong when he tried to pull one loose. Like Natalia. Strong, yet soft when she needed to be, though sometimes that softness seemed to be deliberate, as if she were playing a role. He knew for a fact that the affection in her hazel eyes wasn't pretend, premeditated or was being used as a way to manipulate him. It was just a feeling.

When Natalia entered the courtyard, Anton stepped out into the open. She forgot the cookies, but he didn't care. All he wanted-_needed_ was her. Leading her to the blanket, he presented the flowers, invited her to sit then unpacked their lunch.

After the meal, they were enjoying a companionable silence, Natalia with her face turned up toward the sun in a pose of worship. Stretching out on his back, he locked his hands behind his head and watched the sky. A single white cloud drifted lazily across the expanse of blue as Natalia lay beside him. She yawned and he caught her at it. Slipping an arm under her neck, he urged her to lay her head on his shoulder as that same arm wrapped around to hold her close. Brushing the hair from her forehead, he planted a kiss on that spot. "I missed you these last two weeks."

"I missed you too."

Though he wanted to know where she'd gone on her vacation, he didn't ask. If she wanted him to know, she'd say so. She kept so much of herself out of sight, but he didn't care what she was hiding, _if_ she was hiding or just didn't want to share some parts of her life out of fear that he might be repelled by something in her past or present.

"When are you leaving for university?"

The question wasn't unexpected. Anton had planned on bringing it up soon anyway. "Not for several weeks yet. Why?"

"Would you…would you write to me while you're gone?" Natalia's hand rested on his chest, the short nails lightly scrapping his chest through his shirt as she flexed her fingers.

He chuckled. "Not a very good saleswoman, are you?"

Rising up on her elbow, she looked down at him with a frown. "Excuse me?"

Copying her position, he smiled, his dark eyes roaming over her face, taking in every feature, memorizing them so he could look back on this day and be certain he hadn't missed a thing. "Try saying it again, but without the question."

She smiled and shook her head. "You _will_ write to me while you're gone."

"There. Was that so hard? I will, but only if you promise to write back."

"Of course."

Again, Anton locked his eyes on hers, deciding that now was the moment he'd been waiting for. Slowly, in case she didn't want what he was offering, he leaned toward her. She leaned toward him and there was a moment where their breaths mingled then their lips touched for the first time.

Sensing hesitation, Anton considered backing off, but then it was gone, and she responded, tentatively at first. As she gained confidence the caution vanished. He wanted more, and more, and more, but wouldn't ask that of her. Not until she was ready for it.

He pulled back, smiled, and Natalia echoed it. Then, he lay down again, and she resumed her place against his side with her head on his shoulder. They fell asleep, and when they awakened, it was already getting dark. Anton walked her to the gate, drawing her into his arms for one last kiss before sending her on her way.

A week later, Natalia was already there when he arrived. She was reading, and when she saw him, the book was momentarily forgotten as she ran into his arms. Holding her close, he could feel her heart beating in time with his. She looked up at him. He took the hint and kissed her.

An old hardback book lay on the bench, a leaf stuck in it to mark the page. Taking his hand, she said, "I've decided my life needs more fun in it."

"Oh? And what brought you to that conclusion?"

Smiling, she poked him in the chest. "A friend pointed it out recently and I realized he was right. So…" opening the book, she turned to the first page, "…I'm going to read to you."

Swinging his legs over the armrest, he laid his head in her lap. "Proceed."

Natalia's hand hovered uncertainly. Anton placed it on his chest and covered it with his own as she began to read _Jane Eyre_.

For the next couple of weeks, they alternated reading to each other, and not always the same book. As long as they were together, it didn't matter what they did. Just being in her presence made him happier than he'd been in a long time. Today, she fell asleep, jolted away when he closed the book and set it aside.

"Oh! Sorry. Didn't mean to fall asleep."

Grinning to let her know he was joking, he said, "It was fine until you started to snore."

Outraged, she sat up on her knees beside him, red hair flying around her head in a curly red cloud. "I do _not_ snore!"

"Either that or someone came through here with a chainsaw a few minutes ago. Ow!" She punched him in the arm and continued to pummel him though her heart wasn't in it. To stop her, he took hold of her wrists, pulling her across his lap. Anton wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. Just being in her company made him want more than just a kiss, but he reined in that part of him, content with just a few passionate kisses.

Embarrassed that he'd wanted to take advantage of what she so obviously offered, he released her. Getting to his feet, he looked at the ground. "I, uh, I should get back before my father sends out a search party."

"O-of course. Three days?"

This was their thing, their little ritual of leave-taking. "Yes, but it will feel like forever." He waited a moment to be certain that he still had her attention then spoke the words he'd been long to, "I love you, Natalia."

Anton didn't know what Natalia would say to his declaration though he wasn't at all surprised when she gasped and ran away, probably frightened of the emotions swirling around them like an eddy in a pond. Well, he was scared too.

Falling in love wasn't something he'd planned on the day they met. All he'd wanted was some time alone, but instead, he found Natalia, and she changed everything about his life. Except for university. He was still going, his aunt expecting him one week before classes started so he could settle in. But now he had an incentive to come home more often. In another couple of years, Natalia too would be away at university. They would both be too busy to keep this relationship going, but he felt certain that time and distance wouldn't change the way he felt about her, nor would it change _her_ feelings. They just had to reach that moment where being together was easier than being apart. And to tell the truth, he felt that way now. So they would write to each other and meet here in their place as often as they could.

~~O~~

The three days passed slowly for Anton, as if the universe were telling him to slow down, take deep breaths and relax. He didn't _want_ to relax. He wanted Natalia.

He arrived at the hidden courtyard to find her already there sitting on the bench, a look of sadness on her features that scared him just a little. Had she lost someone close to her? She seldom talked about the other girls at the school and he often wondered if she had any friends aside from him.

The gate screeched and Natalia's head snapped up. For an unguarded moment, anguish shone in her eyes. Then, she smiled and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms and holding on so tight he thought she'd never let go. Then she did, taking his hand and pulling him with her.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"I'm ready to take the stairway to the stars, and want you with me."

They paused at the bottom of the steps before starting the climb. From ground level, the top of the stairs couldn't be seen, and they went much higher than either of them had imagined. Standing there with Natalia's hand in his, he wanted nothing more than to stay here with her for the rest of his life. When they married, and he was absolutely certain they would someday, the ceremony would be done here in the place where their love was born.

She looked up at him, a lock of hair brushing her cheek. He tucked it behind her ear, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek down over her neck to her shoulder as he bent down to kiss her, feeling something in her kiss that disturbed him. It tasted like good-bye.

They climbed to the bottom and again he contemplated the fountain as did she.

"I've spent many hours wondering what the artist was thinking to have left them faceless."

Anton shrugged. He'd been thinking the same thing and had only come up with one logical reason. "Perhaps it was to force us to use our minds, to create our own ideas of what they should look like instead of having someone else's notions imposed."

"I hadn't thought of it that way." She stared at the stone carvings, tilting her head to the side for a different viewing angle. Suddenly, Natalia released his hand, quickly moving away from him. She broke into a run, crossing the courtyard in just a few seconds and was out the gate without bothering to take her backpack.

He chased after her, calling out her name. "Natalia! Natalia!"

But she kept on going and by the time he reached the gate, she was nowhere to be seen. Retrieving her backpack, he took it home with him, planning on returning it as soon as he located her school. There couldn't be that many all-girl schools in the area. He would visit each one until he found her again.

~~O~~

Two weeks later, Anton sat slumped in the chair in his room, Natalia's backpack still leaning against the wall next to his desk. She hadn't been back to their courtyard since the day she ran away. Since then, he'd visited every school in the area that had only female students and none of them admitted to having Natalia as a student. Or rather, not the _right_ Natalia.

He returned to their place twice a week until the day he left for Kursk, but didn't see her again. After a while, he stopped going, though he thought about her. Eventually, he made the decision to go on with his life, assuming that she'd already done so.

**Present Day**

Anton stood outside the hidden courtyard peering in through the gate. The place had been kept up in the years since he'd last been here, and that led him to wonder if he would again be intruding on someone's solitude. And though he pictured a petite red-head with hazel eyes, he doubted he would be that lucky to have found her again.

"Hello? Anyone here?" Silence greeted him so he pushed the gate open and stepped inside. There were more vines and moss, and the trees were taller. Other than that, nothing much had changed in the intervening years.

Prowling the interior, he stopped to stare at the statues that had apparently caused the girl he loved to run from him, never to return. The harsh winters had taken their toll and now even the arms and parts of the clothing had worn away. Natalia's golden stairway to the stars had cracks and chunks of stone missing. Climbing them now would be treacherous to say the least.

Hands in his pockets, Anton again stopped to consider the bas relief, nearly worn away by the years and climate. The sound of the gate opening drew his attention, and when he looked, his jaw dropped open. For there, sitting on that very same bench where they first met sat Natalia. How was it that they'd both been drawn here at the same time? Did it mean they were destined to be together? Or was it just a cruel cosmic joke the universe was playing on the two of them?

Anton smiled sardonically. _Fate really does have a twisted sense of humor_, he thought to himself as Natalia once again began to dance. And as before, when she finished, he stepped into the open, clapping. "_Krasivyy__!_"

Natalia spun around, her left hand reaching behind her in a familiar gesture though he didn't examine it too closely. And as he'd done that first day, he bowed, this time adding an impertinent grin. "I am humbled in your presence, m'lady Carlotta." Bringing himself upright, he smiled, genuinely surprised and delighted with this turn of events. "It's good to see you again, Natalia."

The replay of their first meeting over, Natasha took a step in his direction and another, stopping within arm's reach, her eyes searching his, looking for…what? She closed her eyes, not seeming to realize that she'd done so until she opened them again, leveling her intense and wary gaze on him.

"It's good to see you too, Anton."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 3**

Natasha was happy to see Anton again and to know he was in good health. While she'd hoped to see him, however, she would have liked for it to be somewhere other than here. Here, the memories of that summer lived in a ghostly form. In her mind, she could still see the two of them talking, reading, kissing…falling in love. Now, years later, she also saw that Petrovitch had been right. Love _was_ for children, and she was no longer a child filled with a child's hopes and dreams. She came to terms with the fact that she wasn't meant to have a lasting and meaningful relationship with a man outside of the friendships maintained out of necessity. Clint, Fury, Hill, Coulson. Under that same appellation was Rogers, Thor, Stark, and Banner, though theirs was more out of respect for each other's abilities in combat than anything else.

Anton took a step toward her, his hands held out as if he meant to embrace her, but she couldn't bear to have him touch her. Not yet. Crossing her arms, she took a step back. A momentary flicker of hurt entered his dark eyes then was gone. "Why are you here, Anton?"

He opened and closed his mouth as if he'd thought better of his first response. "Why are _you_ here?"

Natasha couldn't tell the truth. That Clint's question had brought Anton back into her thoughts churning up old memories that she would've sworn had been purged, opting instead for a lie. "I heard our-_this_ _place_ was to be torn down."

Instead of clasping his hands behind his back as he'd done as a young man, he shoved them deep into his pants pockets. The small ironic smile told her he'd noticed the slip, but he was gentleman enough to ignore it. At least _that_ hadn't changed.

"I heard the same thing. Thought I'd come for one last look. It never entered my mind that you would be here or I'd've given you your space."

Both of them were lying and each accepted the fiction as truth. Dropping her defensive posture, Natasha returned to the bench. She started to sit in the middle, changed her mind and sat at one end. Anton took that as she meant it, as an invitation and sat beside her, careful to keep his distance. The emotions boiled between them, left over from when they were teens and she'd run away, never to return…until today. They joined the questions left unasked and she waited impatiently for him to make his inquiries. Why she left, why she didn't try to contact him, and most of all, why she'd _really_ returned to this place.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him what he'd been doing all this time, but she didn't want to become familiar with his life again and absolutely didn't want to share hers. Besides, what would she say? "_I was being trained as a spy and assassin, and now work for a shadowy American government agency that repels alien invasions and stops super-villains from taking over the world_"?

He'd think she was talking crazy and try to have her committed. Naturally, she couldn't allow that, forcing her prove it…or kill him. Neither seemed like a viable option. So they'd just go on with the fiction that was just fine since they'd never see each other again. She'd make certain of it.

The silence between them stretched taut until Natasha had to speak or go crazy. "How are your parents?"

Anton leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped between them. "They died in a car accident my first year of medical school."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too. I still miss them."

Her hands gripped the edge of the bench so tightly her knuckles ached and she forced herself to relax. To show she was calm and in control, she crossed her ankles, swinging her legs because the ground had worn away under the bench and her feet no longer reached. "Of course. I…saw them. Once." Natasha mentally kicked herself for even bringing it up. What if Anton saw her comment as an invitation to ask probing questions? She needn't have worried.

"Oh?"

Still not looking at him, she nodded yes. "The school took us on a day trip to the history museum. We drove past the shop. I could see you with them."

She was proud of the fact that her voice sounded natural instead of stilted, like they were just two old friends catching up. But they weren't. Old friends _wanted_ to see each other again. Were eager to share joys and heartaches. They were none of those things. At least she wasn't. There was no doubt in her mind that Anton, given the right kind of encouragement, would spill all about medical school, the state of his career as well as his very attractive wife and adorable children. She had moved on and was certain he had too, but that didn't mean she wanted the details.

"I see." He pushed a hand through his hair as he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other and staring at the sole of his boot as if he found it the most fascinating thing in the world. "No."

When Anton spoke, Natasha started just a little, they'd been quiet so long. "No?"

"I'm not married and I don't have children. At least not yet."

Embarrassed that he could read her so well after fifteen years apart, she merely nodded, and eventually felt compelled to respond in kind. "Me either."

"We're a pair, aren't we?"

Shooting him a puzzled look, she asked, "Sorry?"

"Both of us too busy with our careers to stop and smell the roses, as the Americans say." His foot dropped to the ground and he slapped his thighs. The sign that he was ready to go. "I have an appointment in town."

Standing, Natasha walked with him through the gate and stood there waiting for him to leave before heading back to the ruins of the school. Ha! Calling the 2R facility a school was like calling the helicarrier a dinghy. Though their basic functions were the same, they vastly differed in how their goals were achieved. Anton seemed to be playing his own version of the waiting game, but she was patient. As an assassin, you had to be able to wait for the perfect opportunity to take out your target. And as far as she was concerned, they could stand here like this for days. To her relief, that turned out not to be necessary.

With a nod, he turned in the direction of town, just as he had when they were kids. He'd only gone a few steps when she called to him. "Anton."

He returned to stand in front of her. "Yeah?"

"It really was good to see you again." Natasha allowed herself a moment of self-indulgence and drew Anton into a quick hug. He stepped back, and she watched him go then broke into a run, alternating with jogging to keep a steady pace. At the car, she climbed inside, her hands on the steering wheel and her forehead resting on her arms. That hadn't been how she thought their first meeting would go. What she'd expected, she didn't know, but not that. Not there, in the place where so much had happened for both of them. She never expected to meet him again, so she never would have put thought into it.

What Natasha hadn't told Anton about the day she'd seen him with his parents was that she'd watched them interact as a family for some time. Anton had swept the floor, his strong arms making short work of the task. Then, when his mother came near, he scooped her into his arms and danced her around the floor making her laugh before swatting him on the arm and sending him off on another errand. Tiptoeing, she had seen him talking to his father, the older man wrapping an arm around Anton's neck to pull him into a brief hug.

She had been so jealous of Anton that day. He, with his loving family, and her with a cold and calculating mentor who believed that affection interfered with one's ability to think clearly. Not only did he discourage it, he strictly forbade the girls from expressing friendship to one another.

Even now, it was difficult for Natasha to do so, even with Clint. Her partner had stood beside her through so much. The hospital fire, Sao Paulo, Drakov's daughter. She snorted. And, of course, Budapest. And Clint had asked for nothing more than her loyalty, though he was deserving of so much more, yet she still kept him at arm's length. From their first meeting, he'd treated her as if whether she lived or died meant something, as if _she_ mattered. She did the same for him, but more as a way to return the loyalty he'd shown her.

When she joined SHIELD and officially became an American, Clint had wanted to take her out to celebrate, but she'd turned him down, preferring to spend the rest of the night in a tub of lavender scented hot water and then resting up for their mission briefing the next day. That's how it always went. After each successful-and some not so successful-ops he would offer to buy her a beer. Not as an overture to a romantic liaison, but as a friendly gesture, and she'd thrown it back in his face by saying no.

The closest she'd ever come to expressing real affection for her partner was when he awakened in the med bay and spoke of being unmade by Loki. Together with the rest of the Avengers, they'd thwarted Loki's attempt to take control of Earth, and to celebrate, Stark had taken the team out for Shawarma. Natasha hadn't bothered to tell the billionaire that it was a common food item in Russia, often served with mayonnaise instead of yogurt sauce.

It was beside the point.

No matter what had happened in her past, it was no reason to take it out on those closest to her.

Starting the engine, Natasha backed out onto the roadway and stopped. Her plan had been to return immediately to the helicarrier, but now she was having second thoughts. She hadn't returned to Stalingrad, now called Volgograd, since she was sixteen. The opportunities had been there. She just wasn't interested in revisiting the ghosts of her past.

_Why __are__ you here?_ that little voice inside her asked with more than a trace of mockery. _Admit it. Clint reminded you that there's more to life than work, work and more work, and that sent you scurrying back to the hidden courtyard. Back to the last time you felt genuine happiness._

"So, I saw him, and a moment later he was gone again."

_Yes, but not for the same reason __you__ ran out on __him__ that summer._

Shrugging, Natasha answered herself, "True."

_And face it. You came here hoping you'd see him again. That you'd find out the old spark was still there_.

"No. I was only conforming to social convention. Old friends hug when they meet after years apart. It's no big deal."

_It was a big deal to you fifteen years ago. He was the first person to treat you with kindness without wanting something in return. The first person since your parents died to love you for you. It was pure and honest, without pretension. Not the insincere kind of love that Petrovitch stopped showing the day he found out about Anton. And don't pretend it doesn't bother you._

"I'm not. It doesn't bother me."

_Oh? Then why are you headed into the city instead of back to the airport?_

Shut up!

Natasha put a stop to her internal dialog by stomping on the gas and breezing past the posted speed limit. A mile from the city, she passed a police car parked in a cubbyhole behind a row of hedges. The officer was asleep, not stirring even when the radar detector went off.

~~O~~

The moment Natasha touched Anton all the old feelings came flooding back. She release him before he was ready for it then he turned and jogged away. Sliding behind the wheel of his car, he drove into town, located a place to eat and settled into the darkest corner so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. He needed time to process the feelings that had bubbled to the surface after being buried under a layer of emotional scar tissue for the last fifteen years. And all Natasha had to do to cut through it was say hello. She hadn't actually said the word, but it was implied. Subtext.

It took a while, but the server finally came around for his order, a Philly steak and cheese, though here, it was called something else. He had developed a taste for them while working in Pennsylvania several years ago. That this one didn't taste anything like the ones from the U.S. irritated him more than it should have, and he knew why.

The bell over the door jangled and he ignored it as he had most of the other ambient sounds in the bar. Except for one. Seems the woman who'd just entered caused quite a stir to go by the excited whispering of the men and the annoyed glares from the women. To make it easier to avoid eye contact with the woman trying to get his attention, he kept his eyes glued to the television and the daytime soap opera being shown. It seemed like his home country became more and more like the U.S. every time he visited. His uninspiring meal provided him with nourishment as he chewed mechanically without tasting. The beer went down easy though. Thank God for small favors.

When he finished eating, Anton went to the men's room, casting a quick glance over at the woman who'd caused a minor disturbance just by eating lunch and wasn't surprised to see Natasha reading from her phone. He came out and she was just paying her bill so he hurried to catch her before she left, touching her on the shoulder. There was an instant of dizziness and he was on the floor, face down.

~~O~~

The bar didn't have anything special to recommend it, and that's why Natasha chose it. All she wanted was a beer and a sandwich-as long as it wasn't shawarma-and to be left alone. The bartender brought a Heineken and a roast turkey Rueben fulfilling her first two requests. But the third, to be left alone, that wasn't as easy as it sounded. She'd barely taken her first bite before a skinny, smelly, weasel of a guy sidled up to her table. She sent him on his way with an icy stare and a firm, "_Nyet_."

The next fellow was a little more to her liking as far as having no objectionable body odor-unlike the previous one-however, he never looked above her chest and probably wouldn't have been able to pick her out of a lineup if his life depended on it. Again, the answer was "_Nyet_" just as it was for the three that came after him.

The last one swaggered up to her table, sitting without invitation. Smiling sweetly at him, she leaned close, reaching under the table and grabbing hold of a body part upon which men placed a high value and squeezed until his eyes bugged out. He begged her to let go and when she did, he hightailed it out the front door, not once looking back. After that, the men in the bar treated her with a little more respect, leaving her to finish eating in peace.

After her meal, Natasha went to the bar, slapped a few bills on the counter and headed for the door while pushing her wallet into her pocket. She'd just fished the keys from her jacket when a hand came down on her shoulder. Reacting instinctively, she dipped her right shoulder, bringing her left arm up and over to grab the man's right hand, bending it into a wristlock and taking him to the floor in under a second.

Several things happened after that. The bartender, a woman in her forties, leaned over so she could see better giving everyone in the place a bird's eye view of her cleavage. Three men sitting at the closest table laughed as if it was the funniest thing they'd seen in years and a female patron screamed.

The man on the floor didn't move except to say, "Wow! I was hoping for a handshake, but _this_…"

She shrugged, twisting her lips to keep from smiling, and extended a hand to help him up. "I see you're still accosting young women, Anton."

He rubbed his shoulder, working the joint to ease the pain. "Only those with red hair, Nat."

The half-smile she put on when she realized who he was turned into a frown. Only Clint was allowed to call her by that nickname, and she barely tolerated it from him because he was her partner. And he refused to stop even after being threatened. "Don't call me that."

"Natalia then."

"Natasha."

His eyes never leaving her face, he nodded an invitation to his table, where an empty bottle and sandwich leftovers waited. "I like it. Russian, with an American aftertaste." He signaled for another beer, pointing at Natasha as well. The bartender rushed over with the order, set the bottles down on fresh coasters then scurried away. "Wicked moves."

Shrugging, she picked up the bottle. "Girl can't be too careful these days."

"Should've known better than to sneak up behind you."

Suddenly, Natasha felt great annoyance at the overly polite tone of their conversation. She'd stuck her toe in the water by going to the courtyard in the first place. Might as well dive in head first. "Anton, about…"

The light bantering atmosphere dropped to the floor and crawled away. "You don't owe me an explanation, Natasha. We were both kids. I was leaving for university soon and didn't expect you to wait at home for me like a good little girl. The plans we had for our lives had been put into motion before we ever met."

_He doesn't know the half of it._ She looked down at her hands folded on the table in front of her. "You don't want to know where I've been? What I've been doing?" A long pause, "Why I left?"

"When you're ready, you'll tell me. You may _think_ you are, but you forget how well I know you." Picking up last bite of his sandwich, he looked at, scowled, dropped it on the plate and pushed it away.

"What about you? Did you become a doctor?"

Leaning back in his chair, Anton wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it in his plate, crossing one leg over the other. "Yes. I'm living and working in London at a government research facility."

Letting her eyes meet his, Natasha tilted her head to the side. Something about that statement didn't ring true. He was good at suppressing tells, she gave him that. She just couldn't quite put her finger on what set her radar off. His story was easy enough to verify, which she'd do once she returned to SHIELD. "I'm glad you fulfilled your dream."

"_My_ dreams were much different than the way things turned out. My mother wanted me to be a doctor, and after she died, I felt it was my duty to make _her_ dreams come true."

"You're a good son." Impulsively, Natasha covered his hand with hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. He turned his hand so they were palm to palm and returned it. Pulling back, she dropped her hands into her lap. "Anton, I was thinking."

"What about?"

Into the short pause between the question and the answer, her phone vibrated against her backside. Digging the offending device out, she looked at the caller ID: Hill. Tapping out a response to the text, she got to her feet. "That's work. I have to go. I'll…"

"Don't say you'll call if you don't intend on following through. But just in case…" Anton extended his hand for the phone, entered his name and number, and handed it back.

Feeling just a little guilty that she'd planned on not calling, Natasha nodded. "Good-bye, Anton." And just to please herself, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 4**

After leaving Anton in the bar, Natasha returned to the helicarrier with all due haste. The quinjet landed, the hatch already beginning to open, and she was out the back just as it touched down. She dashed into the main conference room and slid into a chair, nodding a greeting to each of her colleagues. Clint, Hill, Fury and another man watched her with blank expressions. Anyone else would've been discomfited and rushed to provide an explanation, but not her. She merely pulled the briefing materials to her and opened to the first page patiently waiting for Fury to begin.

"Now that Agent Romanoff has made time in her busy schedule to join us, we'll get started. This is William Holdsworth, Deputy Director of MI6. He will be conducting this briefing."

Fury took his seat, one elbow on the arm of his chair, a finger to lips in thought and his good eye watching Natasha contemplatively. She ignored him to concentrate on Holdsworth.

"If you'll open your materials to the first page, please." The Deputy Director's voice was smooth as honey without the sweetness, publicizing his privileged upbringing with the best schools, never wanting for anything. A member of the Elite class in British social structure, he wore his custom made Italian wool-silk blend pinstriped suit and dress shoes the way Clint wore jeans and sneakers, as if he'd grown up in them. Natasha also picked up other more subtle hints of the gentry. Expensive cufflinks, a Montblanc Star Quantième Complet-the latest model, a platinum wedding band and tie clip, both with matching diamonds of the highest quality. Pricey, and more than a little over the top in her opinion "…for two years, we've been infiltrating a terrorist organization called L'Assemblée. They're based in Rennes, France, though we suspect the people in charge are a mix of nationalities. Our man on the inside, Anthony Riddle, has been working his way up the chain of command over the last year, slowly making himself indispensable in order to get to the man or woman in charge."

Natasha had to give it to Holdsworth for not being a sexist. From personal experience, she knew that women could be as ruthless and deadly as men. And she was a prime example.

"…They've been looking for someone to train pilots. They've also been attempting to seduce several marks. However, they're proving quite…resistant. The group is very well organized, not especially large, but growing. Everyone Riddle has attempted to introduce either didn't pass scrutiny for one reason or another or was executed after botching one of their assignments. We need the best of the best for the next step in the plan." Holdsworth eyed Clint and Natasha. "Director Fury tells me that's the two of you."

Clint leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and a twinkle of humor in his blue-gray eyes. "Flattery, Billy? Not gonna work, but keep talkin'."

Holdsworth sighed heavily in place of an eye roll. "_William_, please, if you must use my given name, Agent Barton.

"L'Assemblée or The Assembly, if you prefer, has their base in Rennes due to its proximity to the English Channel as well as vast areas of open land they use to come and go under the radar, so to speak. We need you to infiltrate, learn everything about their operation you can, especially the names and nationalities of their leaders, bringing them down from the inside."

There was still one question that Natasha needed answering. "Mr. Holdsworth, why are you coming to SHIELD for assistance? Surely MI6 has agents that fit your very general descriptions."

"Thank you for asking, Agent Romanoff. Both you and Agent Barton have unique skills that are eminently suited to the situation. They are in need of someone to train their pilots in that elusive trait of…I believe you Yanks call it hot dogging." Clint stifled a laugh turning it into a cough. Holdsworth scowled in his direction. "Glad to see you're amused. By what, pray tell?"

"It's called _hot-dogging_, _William, _and it can't be taught. You either have it or you don't." Clint's face settled into a smirk as he pointed to himself, "And _I_ just happen to have it."

"And you need me to seduce the marks." Natasha wanted to laugh as well, but she was better at hiding it than her partner. "What Clint's trying to say is we accept the mission. When do we leave?"

Leaning forward, Clint raised his hand, "Actually, what I was _trying_ to say was…"

Fury got to his feet putting an end to Clint's outburst. "Requisition everything you need from Agent Coughlin in Op Tech. Leave at your discretion."

Clint wasn't finished, and though the answer was in the briefing materials, he always asked. "How do we contact this Riddle guy?"

"Don't worry, Agent Barton. _He_ will find _you_."

~~O~~

Holdsworth made a dramatic pause, and that annoyed Clint. He was about to make a smartass remark, stopping when Natasha squeezed a pressure point on his shoulder almost paralyzing his right arm. Wincing, he let Holdsworth continue. "Reservations will be made on your behalf at Hotel Bellevois in Paris. There's an itinerary that must be followed. You'll be contacted within seventy-two hours."

Natasha nodded. "My alias will be Liliana Reese. Clint?"

He shrugged, finally taking it all seriously. It sometimes took a while to get him into the swing, but he always performed at the top of his game no matter what the objective. "Gonna go with Ryland York on this one." Snatching the file up and getting to his feet, he opened it to the first page and started flipping through as they left to conference room, muttering under his breath as they walked.

Natasha huffed at him, but he ignored her. "Can't you read quietly?"

"It helps with retention," he commented just to annoy.

"Hmph."

Their conversation, such as it was, ended when they reached Op Tech and came face to face with the agent in charge. Noreen Coughlin was a legend at SHIELD. She and her team could create a believable history for any alias and the paper trail to back it up within hours.

On their way to pack, Clint's pilot girlfriend, Adele **Wolf,** joined them in the hall outside their rooms. Clint went with her to the Mess Hall for coffee before they left on their mission. As persuasive as Clint could be he'd probably get her to fly them to the airport where they'd take a commercial flight into Paris. She didn't even want to _think_ about all the things he'd convinced _her_ to do since she joined SHIELD.

After showering and changing, she went to the closet, grabbed her Go bag, tapping her headset on the way to the door. "Romanoff to Barton. Take off is in two hours."

"Copy that." Through the open commlink, she could hear heavy breathing and rustling telling her that he and his girlfriend hadn't gone for coffee after all. Rolling her eyes, she locked the door on her way back to Op Tech, closing the channel on a feminine giggle.

On the trip to the airport, Clint accessed Anthony Riddle's file from the onboard system. "So this Riddle guy. Says here he's from your neck of the woods, Nat, Stalingrad. Moved to Surrey as a teenager. Attended universities in Russia, Germany, England and the U.S. Recruited into MI6, get this, in college. Speaks Italian, French, German, Russian, Farsi, Spanish, Irish and Gaelic. His cover name for this deal is Dante Caruso."

Natasha didn't even bat an eye at the fact that Riddle had been wooed into the spy game in college. She and the other girls at the 2R facility began their careers at the age of seven. Younger in some cases. "Sounds like you're getting a man-crush on him already, Clint."

"The list of ops he's brought home _is_ rather impressive."

"Anything else?"

She watched Clint flip through Riddle's file stopping now and then to make general comments, some snide and others admiring. Eventually, he came to the end, settled back in his chair and fell asleep until they reached the airport where she took great pleasure in awakening him by dumping him out of his seat. He called her a name and she returned the favor.

Natasha and Clint in their Liliana and Ryland guises playing a couple, disembarked at the Charles De Gaulle Airport to a comfortable seventy-two degrees. Both agents were dressed appropriately for their mission, that is to say, they didn't stand out at all. In the hours prior to their departure from the helicarrier, Natasha had her hair layered, something she'd been planning for a while, and dyed it a blonde. It fell to her shoulders, curling up at the ends. Clint had gone for his everyday look, this time with a goatee. The hair on his face came in dark so that he already had what looked like several days' worth of growth.

While waiting for Clint, Natasha had Hill had ship their specialized equipment to the hotel to avoid troublesome explanations to security.

At the hotel, they checked in then met in the lobby for the first leg of their excursion. Over the next few days they were to visit specific cafes and shops at certain times. In one of them, their contact, Riddle, in his Dante Caruso persona, would approach them as if they were old friends meeting by chance in the City of Lights.

Natasha had noticed that a photo of Riddle hadn't been included in his dossier, but didn't find that odd at all as their meeting was to be a surprise to all of them. Riddle would know them because of the hat she was to wear. It wasn't anything special, just a black fedora with a bright green feather in its band. He would call them by their aliases. They would enjoy a festive reunion with the three of them taking a table on the patio of a café if they met in a shop or move to the patio if at a café.

Clint and Natasha played their parts to perfection, being affectionate in public without overdoing it. Holding hands as they walked through the streets of Paris, just a couple on a romantic vacation. Then, midday of the fourth day, sitting in one of the larger restaurants, Natasha poked her salad with a fork and sipped iced coffee while Clint read a magazine and devoured a sandwich.

It had rained that morning so Natasha had stuffed her hair up under the hat to get it off her neck. Clint got up to get a refill of tea and a moment later she felt someone stop beside the table.

"Liliana Reese?" The voice was smooth, his French flawless except for a slight Italian accent as befitted his alleged persona.

"_Oui._ I am she."

He moved around in front of her, his legs coming into her sight. Tilting her head, she looked up into a pair of dark eyes that seemed to be able to see into her soul. His smile faltered, but only for a moment. "You do not remember me. I am Dante. Dante Caruso. My wife and I met you and your boyfriend in Milan last year."

Momentarily stunned, she didn't immediately respond then she smiled brightly and stood to hug him. "Dante! It's good to see you again. Where is your wife?"

Playing his part to the hilt, Riddle waved carelessly, his eyes intent on hers as if to convey some sort of message. "She has left me for another. I was heartbroken for the first two weeks and now I am better, oui?"

Clint returned then, giving Riddle a puzzled frown. "Wanna introduce me to your friend, Liliana?"

"Ryland, my love, you remember Dante, from Milan."

"Yeah! How you doin'?" The men shook hands, and according to the plan, Clint and Natasha picked up their food and drinks to move out to the patio. When Riddle had gone ahead, Clint leaned close, whispering in Natasha's ear. "What's _with_ you, Nat? You had that same look on your face just before you knock me on my ass during the invasion."

Shaking her head, she indicated that they'd talk about it later, and Clint accepted without a word. He didn't have a choice because she refused to get into a discussion with him now. They joined Riddle who had placed an order while waiting. It was delivered after they were settled and before the real contact work began. Riddle clasped the hand of the waitress, giving her a flirty grin. "_Merci_, my dear."

The woman rolled her eyes and smiled blandly neither accepting nor rejecting his very obvious advance. Taking the young woman's response in stride, Riddle faced them. Many questions came to mind, but Natasha couldn't ask them in front of Clint. She would have to get the MI6 agent alone.

Clint, Natasha and Riddle talked of nothing important for a while then made plans to meet at the hotel for dinner. That's where they would get down to serious business. Riddle hugged Natasha and gave Clint a hearty handshake combined with a backslapping manly hug then strode away, hands shoved into his pockets.

Turning sideways, Clint scooted close to Natasha's side, one arm on the back of her chair, his fingers playing with the wisps of hair that had escaped from the hat. With an affectionate smile, he leaned close so he could whisper in her ear, "Okay, Nat. What's goin' on? You're off your game today."

"It's nothing." She picked up her glass, but before she could take a drink, Clint stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"_Not_ nothing."

He waited, but she stayed silent, not yet ready to share something from her past that had just slapped her in the face. At least not all of it. Then, she relented. "It's Riddle. We've crossed paths before."

"That much I got. So was it good for you or bad? Did _he_ try to kill _you?_ Did _you_ try to kill _him?_"

Again she tried to take a drink and again he stopped her. She glared in the way she had that meant business and he released her. Draining the rest of her iced coffee, she set the glass down with a thunk, the leftover pieces of ice rattling. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just go back to the hotel."

"Fine. You know I'm not gonna let it go, right?"

Speeding up to get ahead of Clint, Natasha ignored him. Or tried to. He dogged her for a half mile before she had enough. She stopped and he almost ran into her. "Clint. _Go_ to the hotel. I'll see you later."

He let her get ten yards before asking, "Where're you going?"

"Shopping." She didn't bat an eye as she left him in the dust as if they'd had a disagreement. Finally, she was alone, away from Clint's prying eyes and questions. Those blue-gray orbs saw more than she was willing to give away at the moment. She just kept walking and walking until she came to a small café so far off the beaten path that one had to know it was here in order to find it. She asked for a Ricqlès and a glass of ice. As a rule, she didn't indulge in carbonated beverages, so this was a special treat. The mint flavoring helped her relax and the cold soothed her dry throat.

There would be no guilt for telling Clint a lie because "shopping" was a code word between them. He knew she hated shopping and only did it because it had to be done. The first op they'd run together he'd pissed her off, and to keep from killing him, she told him she was going shopping. When she came back with nothing, he figured out she'd taken a long walk to cool down.

After several hours, Natasha felt able to talk to Clint without wanting to do him bodily harm, and headed back to the hotel. Of course it wasn't _Clint_ who'd thrown her emotions out of whack. Not many could do that to her. Yes, Clint was one. And the mere thought of Ivan Petrovitch sent her blood pressure through the roof. Rapists, child pornographers, pedophiles, people who engage in physical and mental abuse, human traffickers were on the list too. But she did her job and allowed them to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law instead of meting out her own brand of justice.

Her thoughts had gone off on a tangent while sipping her drink, and she reined them in with a firm hand. She paid her tab and returned to the hotel in time to get ready for the meeting with Riddle. Wisely, Clint didn't say a word as he left her alone in their room to shower and change, and she gave him a smile of thanks as he closed the door.

~~O~~

Dinner moved along very nicely with the SHIELD agents receiving a full indoctrination into the inner workings of L'Assemblée. When introduced to Caruso's immediate superior, they would make quite the impression, Natasha was sure of it. By the end of dinner and the long talk afterward, she still hadn't devised a way to be alone with Riddle, and it had to happen tonight. They had to clear the air and soon.

To Natasha's relief, Clint himself provided the time she needed by spilling wine on his shirt. He went into the men's room followed by a waiter with a bottle of club soda and a several hand towels.

"So, Natalia, you're SHIELD," Riddle said, silently offering her more wine. She held out her glass to be topped off then he filled his own.

"And you're MI6." Setting her glass on the table, she dabbed daintily at her mouth with the napkin then set it beside her plate. "You lied."

Shaking his head, he too returned his glass to the table. "No. I didn't provide full disclosure. If I'd known you were SHIELD…"

"You told me you were a doctor, _not_ a spy. That sounds like lying to me." _Pot…kettle…black_, her conscience supplied.

The waiter came around to see if they required anything more, discretely left the check and was gone. Riddle picked up the leather cover, placed his credit card inside and set it out of his way. "I _am_ a doctor. I'm also MI6. Most of my missions tend to be ones in which my unique skills are an asset. If we suspect that our target's business is human trafficking, I will be sent to ascertain the physical status of any hostages as well as tend to their injuries. On the odd occasion, like now, I pull an infiltration op."

"I see."

When she didn't treat him to a quick rundown of her professional life, he said, "What? You're not going to tell me _your_ work history?"

"Trust me. You do _not_ want to hear mine. It would shock and disgust you, or worse, make you feel pity. And neither of us wants that."

The expressionless mask Anton had been wearing softened, and before she could snatch it out of the way, he took her hand and just held it. "Nothing you could tell me about yourself would make me do any of those things."

"You say that now, but…"

"I say it because it's _true_, Natalia. Please talk to me."

Clint returned to the table at that moment preventing Natasha from responding. She pulled her hand free and reached for her wine just as the waiter returned with the credit card and receipt which Anton signed and returned.

The three spies made their way to the front door where their car was already waiting. Clint got behind the wheel while the valet handed Natasha into the front passenger seat and Riddle made himself comfortable in the back.

Natasha stared out the side window watching the lights come toward them then slide off out of her peripheral vision though she didn't really see them at all. She was jolted out of her non-thoughts when the car screeched to a halt facing the Seine as boats sailed slowly past. "This isn't the hotel."

"Damn straight! And it _won't_ be until the two of you tell me what the ****'s going on?"

Sensing that her usual tactics wouldn't work this time, Natasha opted for the truth. But before she could even open her mouth, Riddle began chuckling. "Clint knows you very well, Natalia. There was a time when we knew each other as well."

If Clint was surprised to hear the Russian accent from someone purported to be British, he didn't show it. "Excuse me?"

With a sigh, Natasha chuckled too. "Clint's right. We should tell him so there won't be surprises later."

"You _know_ I don't like surprises, Nat."

Turning in her seat so she could see both men, Natasha patted Clint's hand where it rested on the steering wheel. "Clint, let me introduce you to an old friend. He now goes by the name Anthony Riddle of MI6. However, growing up, I knew him as Anton Vasilyev. Anton, Clint Barton. My partner."

~~O~~

Clint was very good at hiding his emotions. When he wanted to that is. But Anton still saw the shock and surprise in his eyes. The way his gaze lingered on Natasha he knew this wouldn't be the end of it for the SHIELD agents. What Anton couldn't tell was if the two of them truly were a couple or just played the part. He sensed a closeness that went beyond friendship forged through shared dangers and ordeals, but how far it went, he couldn't be certain.

He felt Clint's eyes on him then, "So you're Anton. Nat's told me absolutely _nothing_ about you. Not even your name until now."

Shrugging, Anton made light of his former affiliation with Natasha. "We knew each other as teenagers, just before I left for medical school."

Sullenly quiet, Natasha didn't seem to notice that the men were talking about her as if she weren't there. No doubt Clint would get an earful when they returned to the hotel, and Anton didn't envy him. Though, he did get the sense that Clint could more than handle the coming storm. The other man faced forward again. "Where are you staying, Anton?"

"Hotel Dumont on Tenth Avenue." Knowing when to make himself scarce, Anton opened the door and got out. "It's not far. I'll walk."

The SHIELD agents didn't say anything. Clint started up the car, flashed him a slightly pained expression through the window and drove away. Hands in his pockets, a habit he'd picked up in London, he walked along the river in the general direction of his hotel thinking over everything that happened.

He should be surprised to find out the girl he once loved had been trained as a spy, but he wasn't. After joining MI6 he'd succumbed to curiosity and had looked up the names of the all-girl schools in Stalingrad. What he found had been disturbing, to say the least.

As a teen, the Internet was new and expensive so the only place to get a list of schools was the phone book. He had called the schools with only female students without success. What he hadn't known until much later was that the school he was looking for wasn't listed as such. It came up under the heading of "Research Center." Digging deeper, he found that the building had burned to the ground after an explosion in the boiler room killing most of the staff and all the students. Or so it had been reported in the papers. If that was Natasha's "school" and she was being trained as a spy and an assassin, it explained why she seldom spoke about her classes and took the odd vacation trip in spite of having no family. But Anton wouldn't be bringing it up. That was _her_ story to tell and he would let her tell it in her own good time…if she chose. If not, then he would think no more about it.

Arriving at his hotel, Anton eschewed the elevator to walk the three floors to his room. He was taking his key card from this pocket when the thump of movement inside his room put his instincts on alert and a weapon in his hand. The door was slightly ajar as he sidled up to it. From inside he heard the pop-hiss of a bottle being opened, the crinkle of plastic and the slam of a small door. Returning his gun to its place of concealment, he stepped into the room, closing the door without turning his back on his visitor.

Standing at the window was a portly man a few years older than Anton. He was olive skinned with dark hair showing a few strands of white proclaiming his European heritage as did his Greek accent. But whether that was real or as phony as Anton's Italian or British accents, Anton had no way of knowing at this point. Without turning, the man said, "Your minibar needs stocking, Dante."

"I'll speak to the concierge. What are you doing here, Roland? You were supposed to wait for my call." His visitor wasn't unexpected though Anton hoped it would happen some other time. Not when he'd been hit in the face with his past twice within two days and by the same person.

Roland wandered around the room sipping from a bottle of cream soda, stopping to smell the fresh flowers on the table, tossing cashews into his mouth and chewing before saying, "I am making, what do the Americans call it? A preemptive strike? A surprise inspection?"

"Close enough. We had dinner tonight. They're ready to meet whenever you say." Taking off his jacket, Anton dropped onto the end of the loveseat where he could see most of the room without moving.

"No time like the present. I've sent Cristo and his men to pick them up." Roland flipped his wrist over to show a three-year old gold Rolex. "They should be here…"

Anton's head turned sharply in the direction of the door when it was kicked in and four men dressed all in black with their hands tied behind their backs were pushed into the room followed by Natasha and Clint, their eyes smoldering with eerily similar fires of hostility.

The last of the four captives planted his feet forcing Natasha to use more…persuasive means to get him to move. The man, who outweighed the petite Russian by more than forty pounds, winced and rushed to do as he was told.

One by one, and not gently, Clint forced each man to sit on the floor then stood over them, issuing a silent challenge. The men glanced at Roland and away in embarrassment. The archer kept his eyes on them long enough to ensure that they wouldn't make trouble then he advanced on Roland with Natasha coming up beside him. Poking a thumb over his shoulder, Clint said, "If _that's_ the best you got, you're in deep ****, pal."

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 5**

The ride back to their hotel was quiet. A loud kind of quiet Natasha didn't enjoy unless it was coming from her. And when the door enclosed them into the relative privacy of their room, the quiet would become loud. Clint would ask pointed questions and expected truthful answers. In the early days of their relationship, she could lie to him and get away with it, but that hadn't lasted long. The last time she'd lied to him was on the helicarrier just before they engaged the Chitauri Leviathans. To be fair, he had a concussion at the time that _she'd_ given him.

_Wrong!_ her mind accused. _You lied to him in the car when you said Anton was just an old friend. He was much more than that, or are you lying to yourself now?_

If Natasha had been anyone else, the elevator ride would've been awkward, even with the family of four that got on with them, the boy babbling about something she didn't bother listening to. The little girl looked up at her and smiled. Natasha felt herself smiling back and giving the girl a small wave. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. As the family got out, the little girl waved back.

Clint held the door for Natasha then followed her in, tossed his wallet on the dresser and shrugged out of his jacket to reveal a handgun nestled comfortably under his right arm. Out of habit, he divested himself of all weapons except the Glock while she did the same.

Going to the dresser, she took out a T-shirt and sleep pants and went into the bathroom. When she came out, Clint had already changed. He went into the bathroom, coming out a few minutes later and just stood there watching while she brushed her hair.

Laying the brush aside, she turned to face him, head bent forward so that her hair framed her face. Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Natasha leaned against the edge of the dresser. "Yes."

She didn't have to see his face to know that she'd confused him. "What?"

Getting to her feet and taking a slow walk over to stand in front of him, she said, "A few days ago, you asked if I'd ever been in love. The answer is yes."

"Riddle?"

"Anton. Yes." She resisted when he took her hand and tugged. Finally, she let him lead her over to the bed urging her to sit, the mattress shifting as he sat next to her.

"Is it gonna be a problem?" She shook no, and waited for the next question. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Seeing him again after all these years…" One of the drawbacks of being conditioned to simulate emotions was that she didn't know how to express what she was _really_ feeling. Mostly because she didn't _know_ what she was feeling. Had she really loved Anton or had it all been a figment of her imagination? A teenage girl's idealistic dreams?

Petrovitch's directive that she break off the relationship had only been one factor in her decision to end the doctor's life and those of his staff who were no better than him. None of them had shown remorse for the way Natasha and the other girls had been treated at the 2R facility, and so she'd eliminated them as well.

To this day she did not regret her actions when she'd set a bomb in the boiler room, took the girls and fled. Some had been scared, others relieved. All of them free to go where they pleased, armed with the skills to survive. She had dropped them at the train station and drove away, never seeing or hearing from them again.

Clint went to the minibar, coming back with a bag of pecans. He tossed a few in his mouth then offered them to her with questioning a lift of one eyebrow. She resisted rolling her eyes. "How can you be hungry? We just had dinner."

Going to the window to give her time to gather up the frayed edges of her emotions, he spoke without turning, "I have a high metabolism."

Getting to her feet, Natasha lifted the covers and slipped under, the sheet cool against her hot skin. "Don't forget to brush again."

Snorting, Clint crumpled the empty bag and tossed it in the trash can on his way into the bathroom. "_Da, Matushka_."

Rolling onto her side facing away from the bathroom, she switched out the light and closed her eyes. Just as she was about to drift off, Clint jumped on the bed making a big show of getting comfortable. He was doing it to annoy her so, rather than rebuke him, she said nothing.

Finally, he settled down and the light went out, only now she couldn't go to sleep. It wasn't Clint's antics, his presence in the bed with her or the upcoming mission. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Clint rolled onto his back at the same time she did, and in the small amount of light peeking through the curtains, she could see his eyes were open. She was at once relieved and yet not. If they both sensed it then it couldn't be her imagination.

Inhaling sharply and holding it, she listened and… There…at the very edge of her hearing was a sound. Anyone else might have mistaken it for another guest going to their room and trying to be quiet about it, but not the master assassins.

Her hand found Clint's under the covers, gripping it tight. He squeezed back and released, that same hand sliding up under the pillow for the weapon he'd stashed there while she did the same. Natasha counted to three and rolled off the bed hearing Clint land lightly on the other side. Quickly, they shoved the extra pillows under the covers as decoys then tiptoed into the sitting room, going to stand on either side of the door with their backs against the wall.

Clint used hand signals to indicate the number of adversaries, adding an impertinent grin. He could take that many out by himself. With two of them, it would be a piece of cake. Setting aside the Glock, Natasha flexed her hands in preparation for the coming battle.

The door unlocked and slowly edged open one careful inch at a time until the first figure dressed all in black could enter. He was followed by three more.

When they'd passed, Clint slammed the door as Natasha launched herself at the nearest man. In the background, she heard her partner doing the same and within moments, their four opponents were lying on the floor stunned or unconscious. Clint flipped on the light, holding a gun on them while Natasha used zip ties to bind their hands.

The partners took turns changing and by then the men were all awake again. Clint watched while Natasha questioned them, grinning internally because every time she had to use additional "encouragement" on them, he winced.

Once their prisoners had told them what they wanted to know, Clint yanked them to their feet one at a time and together they marched them down to the parking lot. The first three, they stuffed in the trunk of the rental car. It was a tight fit, but they weren't in a position to complain. The fourth was tossed into the back seat where Natasha held a gun on him waiting for him to wake up. They reached their destination just as he groaned and opened his eyes, shoulders slumping when he saw the SHIELD agent smiling unpleasantly at him.

The two agents and four men in black made quite a spectacle going through the hotel lobby just after midnight. Security gave them a cursory glance, apparently deciding that it was in their best interests _not_ to know what was going on.

On the third floor, Clint stopped in front of a specific door, raised his left foot and kicked it open. The last of the men refused to keep walking forcing Natasha to use additional persuasion to get him to move.

Clint pushed each man to the floor then glared at them until they looked away. The archer kept his eyes on them long enough to ensure that they wouldn't make trouble then he advanced on an older man standing at the window watching them with a bored expression. Natasha came up beside Clint.

Pointing at their captives with his thumb, Clint said, "If _that's_ the best you got, you're in deep ****, pal."

~~O~~

Reining his anger in, Clint added, "No wonder you decided to hire outside the company."

The older man looked Clint up and down then did the same with Natasha, but for different reasons. "And why do you say that?"

_Greek with a hint of Italy_, the archer thought to himself. "'Cause your staff is crap! We took them down without even breathing hard."

Playing her part to the hilt, Natasha turned to confront Anton. "Was this _your_ idea, Dante? You, of all people, should _know_ that we don't like surprises."

Crossing his arms, Anton returned the glare. "Roland…" the MI6 agent indicated his companion, "…gave the order without my knowledge or I would've advised against it."

"We should just kill him," Natasha added casually while examining her nails, as if taking a life were easy. It wasn't, even for someone who had been doing it since she was a teen, but it was her character for this op. Clint's too. They'd been touted as ruthless spies/assassins and that's how they played it.

Roland finished off his drink and dropped the bottle in the trash, seemingly unconcerned by the turn of events. Exchanging glances with Anton, Clint engaged in a silent conversation. Clint pulled out his K-bar, advancing on the four still bound. A brief flash of fear came into their eyes, extinguished when he cut their bonds. They rubbed their wrists and stood. With a single nod, Roland sent them from the room.

Clint moved one of the dining room chairs to a spot where he could see the exit, windows and bedroom door leaving Natasha free to sit in the armchair across from Anton. Crossing one leg over the other, Clint waited for someone to speak. Roland filled the space with his voice, which was already becoming annoying to the archer.

"The two of you performed admirably tonight. Thank you for the demonstration." He took out a handkerchief, using it to clean his glasses. "Mr. York, you are the pilot?"

"Yeah. What of it?"

Replacing his glasses, Roland carefully folded the square of cloth, returning it to his pocket. "You will have three weeks to turn someone of my choosing into a pilot as well."

Planting his feet shoulder width apart, Clint stared the older man down. "Listen pal, we aren't in the habit of having to prove ourselves. Either we're in or we're out of here."

Natasha came to stand next to Clint in a show of solidarity, both waiting for Roland's response. He wasn't cowed by Clint's show of bravado, barely even glancing at the SHIELD agents on his way to the door. "Bring them to the estate tomorrow before noon."

"Of course."

Anton walked Roland to the door, listened for his footsteps to fade and the elevator doors to close before turning to face them, a finger to his lips and a hand cupped around his ear to indicate they were being monitored. "You're very lucky. Roland is usually much more aggressive with his surprise inspections."

Natasha shorted. "_Luck_ had nothing to do with it, Dante. We're just very good at what we do."

Letting a note of affection that was quite real enter his voice, Clint responded, "Yes, we are, my love. And it's a good thing we got this gig. I was gettin' bored sittin' at home."

"I'll get you a dog to keep you company the next time I'm away." From her pocket, Natasha took a device that would locate and jam the bugs, replacing their real conversations with fake. She nodded when the task was completed. The anti-surveillance device recorded and analyzed their voices and created a false conversation based on their speech patterns and intonations. Now they were free to talk.

Anton leaned against the door, hands in his pockets, a slow smile spreading over his features. "You're in. With any luck this op will reach its natural conclusion in another week or so."

"Why don't I go and let the two of you to catch up?" Clint said, and though Natasha didn't move anything but her eyes, he got the message loud and clear. _Shut up!_ So Clint shrugged and headed for the door. "Or we can go back to the hotel."

Smirking, Clint waited for Anton to move then opened the door. He went out into the hall, but Natasha didn't immediately follow. Sticking his head back inside the room, Clint looked from one to the other. Both had the same unreadable expression, Anton with a touch more humor than Natasha. Rapping a knuckle on the door to get their attention, he said, "You comin', Nat?"

For some reason, his use of her nickname caused Anton to look at Natasha strangely and she now exhibited an expression Clint would never have associated with her: Awkwardness. Her eyes flitted to Anton and away. "Meet here tomorrow?"

Nodding, Anton finally stepped aside. "I know a place for brunch that will be perfect."

"Good. Ten-thirty then."

In Clint's mind, and hopefully Anton's as well, "perfect" meant that the restaurant was spy friendly. Precautions would still be taken of course-this wasn't their first rodeo, and maybe one day soon Clint wouldn't feel like a third wheel with Natasha and Anton. Natasha walked past him to the stairs. Clint followed her down and for once kept his mouth shut.

~~O~~

With Anton in the lead, the trio of spies walked the corridors of L'Assemblée's home base. From the outside, it wasn't much to look at. Plain walls, grass, trees and shrubs, but no flowers or patio. In fact, very little to draw the attention of passing motorists or pedestrians. Not that there were many this far from the city. There was a jogging/bike/walking trail and an obstacle course. Fitting for their cover of being a private fitness club for wealthy clients from around the world who valued their anonymity.

Word on the streets was you had to have an invitation from a current member and the approval of the admittance committee in order to join. It was all a cover, of course. And most of the petitioners were denied. Those that were admitted gained approval through their political views with the "membership fees" being investments in the cause. And to keep the fiction of an exclusive fitness club going, the employees of L'Assemblée could be seen running, biking and walking in the vicinity.

Inside was another matter. The décor wasn't opulent, though it was very pleasing to the eye. Hanging everywhere were abstract paintings that Anton found mildly distracting on a good day and highly annoying on bad days. Today, he had other things on him mind so the artwork barely registered, or it would've if Clint didn't announce the name of the artist each time they passed a piece hanging on the wall or sitting on a display shelf. He stopped in front of one piece, examining it from different angles.

A member of upper management, a stern woman in a pantsuit paused with them, a dreamy smile on her face. "That is a Christopher Mayes. Isn't it magnificent?" Her voice held reverence and more than a little hero-worship.

Clint turned, a charming smile taking the place of his resting face as he took her by the hand. "Madam, words escape me. Ryland York, at your service."

"I-I, uh, my name is Elizabeth. Bennett. Oh!"

He kissed her boney knuckles and the woman, sucker that she was, fell for it. Finally, Natasha took him by the hand and dragged him away. They'd gone about twenty yards and were about to enter the dormitory when Clint said, "It's a fake."

Drawing his eyebrows downward in confusion, Anton said, "Excuse me?"

"The Mayes. Fake. A good one, but still a fake."

The men stood back to let Natasha enter first, Anton glaring at Clint. "Elizabeth absolutely adores that piece so keep quiet. She's also is the supply coordinator. Best not piss her off, York."

One side of Clint's mouth slanted upward in a grin. "Wouldn't think of it, Caruso. So she's the one I should talk to about getting a special mattress for my back?"

Huffing, Anton stopped in a large common area with corridors branching off in several directions. "Dining room that way, laundry over there, conference rooms are back the way we came in, near to the entrance. Anything else you can find on your own." He used a keycard to open a door. "This is the residential area. Men's dorm through there, women's dorm over there."

Playing his part, Clint wrapped both arms around Natasha, cuddling her close. "Where do the couples sleep or don't they allow fraternization?"

Laughing, Anton shook his head. _Man, he's good. _ "Fraternization is not only allowed, its encouraged. This way to the couple's dorms." Again leading the way, Anton took them through another door, down a hall, stopping in front of an open door with an alphanumeric designation and a keycard reader. The room was furnished with a double bed, two dressers, two night stands, a desk and a vanity. "Unfortunately, you don't have time to settle in now. Liliana, you're expected in conference room 8B and Ryland will be taking on his first student."

He handed them each a keycard and ID badge to be worn at all times. Clint and Natasha made a big show of saying good-bye to each other with a long and very passionate kiss. As Natasha headed for the door, Clint turned his attention back to Anton, reluctantly tearing his eyes from his lady love. "So who's the first pathetic loser in the cockpit?"

Deadpan, Anton said, "That would be _this_ pathetic loser," indicating himself. It might have been his imagination, or maybe it wasn't, but it appeared that Natasha glanced back at them a millisecond too long before moving out of sight. They heard the beep from the scanner at the end of the hall and voices in the common area and the next room.

In Russian, Clint said, "I think she has a problem with us being alone together. Doesn't want us comparing notes."

~~O~~

"Not that we would, of course."

Gesturing for Anton to lead the way, Clint followed the MI6 agent to the motor pool where they picked up the keys to a Jeep and drove to a cluster of hangars a mile from the main building. On the tarmac outside the first hangar sat an AH-1Z helicopter, affectionately referred to as Zulu.

While Anton buckled into the passenger seat, Clint gave him a quick rundown of the Zulu. "This baby has state-of-the-art dynamics, weapons and avionics to incorporate the latest in survivability. It has anti-armor capability to engage and defeat the broadest array of threats at standoff ranges that defy imagination. Its standard configuration utilizes the T700-GE-401 engine. The weapons include AGM-114A, B, and C Hellfire, up to 16 anti-tank missiles…"

"You can stop there. I'm already a pilot, but this operation didn't require one so it wasn't a part of my resume. I offered to be the guinea pig."

"They wanna see what I can do before they take me on full time." Anton shrugged, adding on a sheepish grin. Returning it, Clint began his pre-flight. Thirty minutes later they were flying over a wooded area to the south of the estate, Clint showing off his flying skills. "How close are you to finding out the identities of those in charge?"

Anton looked over at him then back out the front. "These people wrote the book on patience. It's taken me nearly two years to gain their trust enough to approve someone I've suggested."

"So don't push."

"Exactly." Anton opened and closed his mouth before deciding to press on. "Are you and Natasha…"

Clint turned serious. "No." Now it was Clint's turn to make a dramatic pause as he turned the helicopter into a banking left turn. "Not anymore." Silence from his companion made Clint regret that he'd said the last. It might've been better if he hadn't mentioned that he and Natasha had been intimate at one time. "If you tell her I said this, I will put an arrow through your heart. The two of you need to clear the air, to…communicate."

Anton looked over at him with an almost comical "oh, really" stare. He blinked twice then faced front once again. "I'll keep that in mind." This time there was an awkwardness that hadn't been a part of the conversation until now. "How did you and Natal-Natasha meet?"

Banking again, this time to the right, taking them back in the direction of the estate. "I was sent to kill her."

His companion didn't get a chance to form a response to the bald statement. The Zulu's engine sputtered, the entire craft shaking with the force of it. Wobbling from side to side, Clint swore as he held tight to the stick gritting his teeth as he used all the strength in his left hand to keep them level. They began to lose altitude, the skids crashing through the tops of the trees. Just as they reached an open field, the engine cut out completely. "****! Hold onto your ass! We're goin' in."

Instead of coming straight down, the Zulu hit the ground tilted forward, skidded in that position, a grove of trees coming toward them way too fast. In a desperate attempt to not get them killed, Clint yanked hard on the stick, relieved when the world outside rotated so that they were now canted to port, the main rotor slicing through the trees scattering leaves and branches in all directions like a giant weed whacker.

Anton shouted, "York, look out!"

A moment later, the world turned black.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 6**

"Ow! What the ****?"

Clint stood over the chopper mechanic, Horace Greeley sprawled on the floor where he'd fallen after the archer hit him. It had hurt like hell to swing his left arm after dislocating in the crash, but the guy deserved it. For an answer, Clint threw a two-foot piece of fuel line at the man.

Greeley picked it up and looked at it as if it were going to bite him. "I don't…"

"Someone sabotaged the Zulu, Greeley. We coulda been _killed_."

Anton also loomed over Greeley on the other side so he had to look up at both of them, his head turning side to side with an expression showing that he was as much in the dark as the spies were. Clint exchanged a glance with Anton who merely extended a hand to help the mechanic to his feet. "You didn't do it."

"If I did, do you think I'd just stand here and let you kick my ass?" Carrying the tubing to his workbench, Greeley examined it with a magnified lamp. He produced a knife that had been concealed on his body, thumbed the safety off. The blade popped out, and he used it to slice through the hose. "On the surface, it looks like it split from wear or age, but that's not possible. My staff adheres to a strict maintenance schedule. We also double check each other's work."

Neither man was mollified by this information. Holding in a huff, Clint crossed his arms. "Someone went to a great deal of effort to make the crash look accidental."

Anton picked up the hose to examine it closer. "Any idea who might've had a reason?"

Greeley flicked his watery brown eyes at Clint then Anton and down to the top of the workbench, the dark brown skin of his forehead crinkling. "Emerson. Expected to get the position they gave to you, York. He was royally cheesed off when they hired outside the company. Just out of curiosity, why aren't the two of you dead?"

Grinning, Anton tossed the hose on the bench, turning to face Clint and Greely. "Because York is the _best_. If anyone else had been at the stick, we'd both be dead and this conversation wouldn't be happening."

His eyes going very wide, Greeley looked more than a little mad. "You're _that_ good?"

With a grin, Clint rubbed his sore shoulder. "I'm _better_. Now if you don't mind, Caruso has to take me to the Infirmary."

"Why?" Anton asked with a touch of puzzlement.

Clint had been ignoring the bouts of vertigo since he and Anton regained consciousness after the crash. But it was becoming more difficult to hide by the minute. Taking a deep breath didn't help as the room started spinning. "Concussion," he stated simply, turning toward the door with Anton at his side.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Radio and GPS were knocked out. Walking was the only option." Clint came to an abrupt halt, the heel of his hand pressed to his forehead. "Greeley, Caruso's gonna need your help."

The mechanic joined the other two men, his forehead pinched in confusion. "Why?"

"'Cause I'm gonna pass out." And a second later, he did.

~~O~~

"Liliana!"

Natasha was sitting alone in the common area of the dormitory when her "student" came rushing in. In the hours that Natasha had been trying to teach the woman the art of seduction, she hadn't learned a thing. She still walked as though lead weights were attached to her feet and swung her arms like a windmill. Instead of reprimanding her yet again, Natasha closed the file she was reading. "What is it, Margaret?"

"You must come with me to the Infirmary immediately!"

Margaret's overly dramatic ways would have her caught before she made even tentative contact with her mark. Natasha opened the file, picking up where she left off. "I'm busy."

"Your man, Monsieur York, and his student, Monsieur Caruso. Their helicopter crashed. They've been injured." Completely forgetting everything she'd learned just a couple of hours ago, Margaret seemed to have lost her ability to speak English along with the American accent Natasha had spent painstaking hours teaching her as she continued her tale in French.

Vaulting from her chair, Natasha brushed past the other woman so fast Margaret had to run to keep up, still chattering away. Finally, the Russian couldn't take any more. She raised a hand to stop her talking just as they reached the Infirmary.

The medical facility was slightly bigger than a hospital room with doors leading to the lab, an office and what was probably a small surgical theater for emergencies. The doctor, a woman in her fifties, dark skinned with an expression of boredom that seldom changed, stood beside Clint's bed. At the moment, the doctor was flashing a light in the archer's eyes and asking him the usual questions, speaking with a South African accent.

"What's the date?"

Clint huffed at her and Natasha almost laughed. He'd been through this same routine on more than a few occasions since they'd become partners. "June twenty-fourth."

"What happened to you?"

"My chopper crashed."

He rubbed his forehead and the doctor slapped the hand away. "How are you feeling?"

This time he snorted and one side of his mouth twitched as he fought a grin. "Like I was in a chopper crash."

"What's your name and where are you?"

Seeing Natasha standing in the doorway, a glint of mischief made his eyes twinkle. "I'm Batman, this is the Batcave and you're Alfred." Finally, the archer had enough of being prodded and poked. He brushed the doctor's hands away. "This isn't my first trip to Wonderland, doc. I'll be fine."

Crossing her arms, the doctor scowled. "Roland didn't tell me you also have a medical degree." She picked up an ice pack, applied it to the back of his head and took his right hand, forcing him to hold the pack in place. Then, she examined the x-rays brought to her by a technician. "Your shoulder was dislocated though not severely. Keep the sling on and no lifting for at least a week. Anti-inflammatory medication for pain."

Turning to Anton, the doctor performed the same tests she'd just performed with Clint. On the other side of Anton, a medic completed stitching up a wound on his forehead, covered it with a bandage and carried the tray and bloody bandages from the room. Shutting off the penlight, the doctor dropped it into the pocket of her white lab coat and picked up the medical charts. "The two of you will stay the night for observation. If you behave, I'll think about releasing you back to work in a week."

Together, Anton and Clint exclaimed, "A _week?_"

Unrepentant, the doctor looked at them in turn. "Another word out of either of you and seven days will turn into fourteen. Am I clear?"

Both men merely nodded as the doctor turned on her heel, slamming the office door behind her. While Clint's attention was on the doctor, Natasha went to his side and held his hand giving it a squeeze and mock glared. "I leave you alone for five minutes and look what happens."

With a sheepish grin, Clint shrugged. "I gotta be me, babe."

From the other bed, Anton chimed in, "I'm fine, by the way."

Clint flipped him off earning him a snort from both Russians. Playing her part to perfection, Natasha sat next to Clint, swung her feet up and cuddled against his side. His good arm went around her as he dropped a kiss on top of her head then rubbed the spot with his cheek.

~~O~~

Trying to ignore Natasha and Clint talking softly together, Anton again wondered if there was more to their relationship than they'd said. Sure, they were partners on the job, but the way they were acting, it seemed like so much more than that.

The medic came in a few minutes later and sent Natasha away. She went, but not before kissing Clint breathless and whispering, "_Ti voglio bene_."

To which Clint winked and replied, "_Ti amo_."

Anton, fluent in Italian, nearly choked on a mouthful of tea. While the meaning of Natasha's phrase was less passionate, something one might say to a good friend or to a loved one, Clint's implied a sexual relationship with a heavy element of lust. The look in his eyes as he watched Natasha leave the room…that couldn't be contrived or manufactured. There had to be more to what they shared than friendship.

Unless acting _was_ the operative word. Fury had assured Holdsworth that they were the best at what they did. If someone who knew Natasha as well as Anton did believed they were a couple, then they more than lived up to their reputations. It also annoyed Anton that Clint could be that close to Natasha and he couldn't, but he didn't examine too closely the reason for that irritation.

Thankfully, the medic came in a few minutes later with food trays then, around eight in the evening, the medic brought sleeping pills ordered by the doctor. Both men popped the pills and washed them down with sips of water. When the young man had gone, they spit the pills into their hands, giving each other a sheepish grin before shutting off the lights for the night.

~~O~~

For Natasha, most of the next day was again spent trying to school Margaret in seduction. Her walk was better today, and Natasha put yesterday's lapse down to the excitement stimulated by the new guy being injured his first day out. Margaret also worked on her American accent with just a little prodding from her instructor.

As evening approached, Natasha suggested they go into town and give Margaret a chance to see her instructor in action. She procured the keys to a pristine, fresh-off-the-assembly line Bugatti Veyron, swearing in Russian when she discovered that Margaret couldn't drive a standard. Mentally adding driving lessons to the curriculum, Natasha drove into town cruising the streets until she found just the right venue for tonight's lesson.

Natasha saw a small white car pull in behind them where it stayed for the next couple of miles, turning off just short of her imposed timeframe for confronting the driver who seemed to be following them. Turning in the opposite direction, she located a night club up ahead on the right. While they waited for the valet, Natasha gave instructions to her charge. "You want to be noticed. Walk with confidence, grace and pride in yourself. Smile, but don't overdo it. You want to charm your mark not scare him off. Meet the eyes of strangers boldly."

Shaking her head sadly, Margaret said, "Mother died when I was a young girl. You don't learn how to be a lady from a construction foreman."

Smiling, Natasha glanced at her companion. "Then I promise to show more patience if you promise to try harder."

"I promise."

The valets opened the doors, taking the women's hands and tipping their hats. As she'd instructed, Margaret smiled in a way that said she accepted the courtesy as her due. They were shown to a table, Natasha ordering a moderately priced white wine when what she really wanted was a beer shared with her best friend after the successful completion of a mission. So, why was that picture being overlaid with another? In the new scene, she was in a clawfoot tub, bubbles floating on the surface of the water, and sitting across from her, Anton was pouring them each a glass of champagne.

The bubble of her daydream burst as the server appeared with the wine. Natasha performed the ritual with only part of her attention while the rest scanned the room for a likely mark. She spotted one sitting alone at the bar, a tumbler of scotch near his right hand. In his left, he held a smart phone, using his thumb to scroll and frowning at what he was reading.

To Margaret, Natasha said, "Watch and learn." Going to the bar, she leaned on the counter several seats away from her mark. The bartender stopped in front of her. "Dirty martini. One olive, one onion."

Less than two minutes later, a clear liquid filled glass appeared in front of her. She removed the toothpick holding the garnish, set it carefully on the counter then knocked back the drink in one long gulp, signaling for another. When it arrived, she performed the same procedure, using the toothpick to make a cross with the previous one.

The third one she took her time with, and by the time it was half gone, a voice spoke to her.

"At the rate you're going, your liver will explode before you hit forty."

The glass to her lips, Natasha said, "Oh, good. _Finally_ something to look forward to." He laughed. Seeming to be startled, Natasha snapped a look at him then smiled ruefully glancing over her shoulder at Margaret. "Drunk is the best condition to be in around my holier-than-thou sister when she's going on and on about her perfect husband, perfect kids and perfect life."

Natasha hitched her hip onto the cushioned barstool next to her and nibbled on the pimento, shaking her head when the bartender asked if she wanted another.

"I can relate. With me, it's my brother." The man scooted into the seat next to Natasha, sensing a kindred spirit. "My mother never gets tired of reminding me that Frank is a world famous surgeon with the World Health Organization. Calls him 'Doctor WHO'." The spy didn't get the reference, but didn't say so as he continued. "When I tell her about _my_ job in international finance, she says, 'That's nice dear' and pats me on the hand like I finally learned to tie my shoes."

"What my sister doesn't know is that …" she made air quotes, "…perfect husband of hers is having an affair with his business partner."

He shook his head and stuck out his hand with a sad sort of smile. "Jesse. And no, my last name isn't James."

Giving his remark the small chuckle it warranted, she accepted the offering. "Liliana." She stared into her glass, using the onion on the end of the toothpick to stir the martini. From the corner of Natasha's eye she could see Jesse watching her in the mirror, sniffing at the bait she'd cast. It wouldn't be long before the hook would be in his mouth and she could reel him in. As though she didn't care and was only making small talk, she asked, "You're American."

The bartender returned, both declining the offer of another refill. He drained the last few drops of scotch then stared into the glass, watching the light glint off the cut crystal's facets. "That's a little personal for a first date."

Turning to face him, she lifted just one eyebrow mockingly. "This _isn't_ a date. Remember my sister?"

Jesse's eyes dropped to her left hand and as if that were a reminder, she looked down as well. Using her thumb, she pushed the ring back and forth watching the light glinting off its facets.

"I'd ask you to have dinner tomorrow, but I can see that you're taken."

"Not much of a go-getter if you let a piece of metal and carbon keep you from getting what you want."

He let the last few drops of scotch dribble onto his tongue then set the glass aside. "I make it a point not to go hunting in someone else's forest."

With a disappointed smile, she shrugged and slid off the chair. "Some other time then."

~~O~~

Sitting outside the Thorny Rose with a pair of compact binoculars, Clint watched Natasha while Anton sat in the driver's seat drumming on the steering wheel. Without taking his eyes from the view, Clint said, "Stop."

Anton stopped, only to start up again. "Why are we here, Barton? Won't Natalia be upset that you're spying on her?"

"Not really. We've been partners for a while now. It's expected." Grinning, Clint added, "O-oh. Another man caught in her web."

Anton snatched the binoculars from the archer. "Where? She's _flirting_ with him."

"Uh, _yeah_. It's what she does. And she's very good at it."

"And it doesn't bother you that she…"

"Seduces men for a living? Why would it? I'm her _partner_, not her husband."

Puzzled, Anton responded to Clint's earlier comment, "Web?"

Favoring his left arm, Clint turned in his seat, giving him a dumbfounded stare. "The Black Widow? It's her name."

Now it was Anton's turn to be taken aback. "I thought they were a myth. An urban legend."

"She's the real deal, Riddle. And the only one of her kind left."

Keeping his eyes on Natasha, Anton adjusted the focus as she turned her head to talk to the man beside her. In Anton's opinion, the man wasn't worthy of an intelligent beauty like Natasha. He had average hair, average build, average height and average looks. Except for the air of confidence surrounding him that Anton could feel all the way out here, the man had nothing going for him. In his opinion, at least.

Natasha nodded and returned to the table she shared with a pale young woman Anton recognized as Margaret, the man watching her walk away. She had to know his eyes were on her because she made a show of it, sashaying her way between the tables. Lowering the binoculars, he handed them back to Clint.

Clint stated, "I've seen enough."

Unbuckling the seatbelt, he started to get out, hissing in pain when Anton touched him on the shoulder. "Where're you going?"

"To play my part in this little drama."

"Excuse me?"

Leaning down, Clint grinned. "Time for me to have a fight with my fiancée in front of her mark."

He slammed the door, leaving Anton shaking his head. He'd never worked with a partner before and wondered how two loners such as Clint and Natasha had managed to keep from killing each other for so long. Watching through the binoculars gave him a great view of the unfolding performance, especially when it moved outside.

~~O~~

"Hello, Liliana."

Startled, Natasha made a small gasp. "Ryland! What are you doing here? Can't you see I'm working?"

"Working. Right. I had a hunch you were cheating on me again so I followed you." Clint's defensive posture would've irritated her if she didn't know he was faking. He ignored Margaret as if she we unimportant. "Which one is the guy you've been screwing behind my back?" He pointed his chin at the room in general. "Your standards have slipped quite a bit since the last one. At least _he_ had money."

Sliding out of the booth to confront Clint, a cloud of anger settled over Natasha's features. "Low standards? You may be right about that. I agreed to marry _you_, didn't I?"

"Something I regret more and more every day." With a long-suffering sigh, he rubbed a hand down his face.

Lowering her voice, she asked, "Do we have to talk about his _now?_"

Lifting the arm not in a sling, he let it fall down to slap his thigh. "Where else? Except for the past few days, I've hardly seen you for weeks. When, _exactly_, are we supposed to talk? Two in the morning when you come crawling into bed after one of your trysts?"

Gesturing at the door, Natasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Margaret and I'll be here for a while. Let's do this outside."

Clint stepped back to let Natasha go ahead of him, finally noticing Margaret. In French, he said, "My apologies, Mademoiselle. I'm sorry I disturbed your meal. Liliana will be right back."

When they reached the sidewalk, Natasha took an aggressive stance, hands on her hips and that dangerous expression still in place. "We have to break up."

"Why?"

"To make what I'm doing believable. Once the mark saw my ring, he wouldn't bite."

"Fine." He let out another long sigh. "Let's make this look good. If anyone comes out, I want them to be picking 'scene' out of their hair for a couple of days."

Keeping her angry expression in place, she let her tone speak for her. "You always did know how to show a girl a good time."

~~O~~

From his vantage point, Jesse could see but not hear Natasha talking to the casually dressed man who'd instigated a confrontation. If he had to guess, he would say he was Natasha's fiancé. The man had great taste in women, but poor taste in jewelry. He'd only spoken to Natasha for a few moments and already knew that both the ring _and_ the man were all wrong for her.

His phone vibrated, he answered the text then shut it off so he could concentrate on Liliana just in case he had to go to her rescue.

The door opened and closed as someone left, allowing those inside to get just a small taste of the argument. The man grabbed Natasha's wrist, refusing to let go. Her other hand came up and slapped him so hard his head jerked to the side startling him into releasing her.

Her chest heaving, Natasha swept past the stunned Clint and into the restaurant. Clint's shock only lasted a moment as he followed her back inside, catching up with her at the end of the bar. "Don't walk away from me!"

"You don't _own_ me, Ryland. I'll do whatever I please."

"And I'm just supposed to be okay with that?" Sarcasm dripped heavily from Clint's words, but he wisely didn't touch Natasha again.

"No." Natasha twisted off the white gold band with a single pear shaped diamond and shoved it at him. "I'm done. I can't do this anymore. The engagement's off. I'd appreciate it if you'd have the hotel find you another room. Then, when we get home I'll move out of the apartment."

"What the _hell?_" Clint stared at the ring resting in the palm of his hand. "I didn't want…"

"What?! You want what? I'm so sick and _tired_ of you and your jealousy. We're finished." She crossed her arms and looked at the hostess whispering with the owner and watching them closely. "You should go before they call the police."

Clint's mouth opened and closed several times, stunned at the turn of events. "You're breaking up with me?"

She ignored his attempt to backpedal, turning her back on him, finally looking up when Jesse touched her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to see that. He's always been insanely jealous even when he had no reason to be. Then one day…"

~~O~~

"You gave him something to be jealous about?"

Nodding reluctantly, Natasha looked down at her bare left hand still showing the indention of the ring. "Yes. I regretted it immediately and told him, but…" she sighed. "I just can't take it anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too." Dragging her head up, she looked into his eyes. "Would you still like to have dinner?"

The bartender came close, Jesse waving him away. "If you're up to it, yes."

Some of what he'd said during their short conversation didn't ring true, but she couldn't quite get a grasp on what it was that gave her the feeling. He was good at hiding his tells, and that meant he was in a profession that required such skills. "My sister's plane leaves day after tomorrow. Meet you here at seven?"

"Seven it is."

Smiling as she walked away, she heard Jesse order another drink, "I'll take a Back Spin."

~~O~~

"What was the purpose of this little excursion?" Starting the engine, Anton shifted into first gear, made a U-turn and headed toward the estate.

"Back-up. It's SOP when we're on a joint op."

Anton frowned. "And the argument?"

Clint made as if to shrug but thought better of it. "Had to make it look good. The mark was a little too…honorable."

Looking back at the road, Anton rested his right wrist on top of the steering wheel. "Then why bring _me_ along?"

Clint adjusted his sling where it looped around his neck. "I needed a chauffeur."

Sensing that he was being watched, Anton flicked his eyes to the side and back to the road. "In a pig's eye." Clint didn't respond and to Anton that meant he'd touched a sensitive subject. "She told you. About us."

Reluctantly, Clint shrugged. "Not everything. Just that she…cared about you." He grunted in pain when they hit a pothole. "Nat keeps it close to the vest, you know? I only know some of her deepest, darkest secrets because I was there. She's told me next to nothing about her life from before we met. Not that I haven't tried. It's just…"

The archer turned to look out the window in embarrassment, and as much as Anton enjoyed watching him squirm, he couldn't keep it going. Underneath the cocky, devil-may-care attitude beat the heart of a man who would do anything for his friends, family, country and world. _Did_ Clint have family? Anton didn't for one minute think he would say so if he did. Like Natalia, he kept his past obscured. More to keep his enemies from using those he cares for against him, he guessed. Anton made a mental note to skim Clint's file when this mission was over.

Turning onto the estate, Anton pulled up to the scanner and was admitted. Clint didn't say another word as they went into their dormitories.

~~O~~

The server discretely removed the dinner plates while Jesse topped off Natasha's glass of wine then emptied the remainder into his own. "Now that we've eaten an entire meal together, would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you're American?"

Chuckling lightly as was expected, Natasha just held the half full wine glass in her hand watching the droplets of condensation travel down the curved bowl to the stem. "Of course not. Yes, I'm American. And you are…?"

"From Wisconsin. Milwaukee." He lifted one eyebrow questioningly.

"This is where I reciprocate and tell you all about myself, right?" Natasha said it with a trace of mischief. "My work takes me all over the world so 'home' is a relative term. I maintain an apartment in New York though I'm seldom there." _And that's the only truthful piece of information he's getting out of me,_ she mused.

At the beginning of the meal, Natasha and Jesse had been across from each other in the curved booth. As the night progressed, they'd closed that distance until they were now side by side, his knee lightly brushing against the bare skin of her thigh below the hem of her simple yet elegant black cocktail dress. Every now and then, their shoulders touched as if by accident.

"I know a place with live music you can dance to."

"Thank you, but I don't really feel like dancing tonight." Jesse scooted around to the other side and got to his feet, her wrap and purse held out to her. She took them just as the server rushed to their side. He signed the credit card receipt then ushered her toward the door with his hand barely touching her lower back. Not intimately, but as a comfort.

Outside, she shivered and he immediately took the wrap and draped it over her shoulders. "Come. I'll take you back to your hotel."

Smiling wanly at him, she said, "I'm just going to walk around a while."

"I'll go along, if you don't mind. A beautiful woman shouldn't be out alone at night. Not even in Rennes."

He fell into step beside her, hands in his pockets. After they'd gone about a quarter of a mile, she stopped and faced him, her mouth set in a determined line. "On second thought, let's go to your hotel."

"_My_ hotel?"

"Yes. I'm in the mood for some revenge sex." He just blinked at her, obviously stunned at the abrupt turnaround. "Yes or no? This offer is only good for the next ten seconds."

For an answer, he stepped to the curb and whistled for a taxi. The ride to his hotel was silent except for the ticking of the meter and crackle of the radio. At the hotel, he paid the fare, stopped at the desk for his key and moments later they were whisked to the seventh floor.

The moment the door closed them into a cocoon of privacy Natasha was all over him, her purse, wrap and shoes discarded on the floor near the door. Jesse's jacket, tie and shoes joined them. He urged her over to the bed, their lips not once losing contact. Hands on his shoulders, she forced him to sit on the foot of the bed then straddled his lap. Pulling away, she unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it from his shoulders and off, tossing it over her shoulder.

Jesse's questing fingers found the tab of the zipper at the back of her dress. Before he could do more than ascertain its location, Natasha jumped up, flipped him onto his stomach, twisting his right arm behind his back, her left arm against the base of his skull, pressing his face into the mattress.

He muttered an indignant, "Hey!" and grunted when she stuck her knee in the middle of his back.

Leaning close to his ear, she rasped out, "Tell me who you really are or I'll snap your neck like a twig!"

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 7**

In his position, Jesse had no leverage to get himself free from Liliana's grip. Though she was petite-not more than five foot two and maybe one hundred seven pounds, if he had to guess-she was strong. He had no doubt that, if it came to a physical confrontation, she would be difficult to take down.

Relaxing, he said, "If you changed your mind, all you had to do was say so." She applied pressure to the arm twisted behind his back. "Ow!"

"Answer me or I'll break it!"

"Jesse Sutton. I'm from _Milwau_-umph!"

The tone of Liliana's voice edged into a growl. "The mayor."

"I don't…" She pressed his head deeper into the mattress forcing him to fight to breathe. "Barrett. Tom Barrett. Democrat. He's been in office since 2004." The weight on his back disappeared, the bed shifting as Liliana jumped free. Pressing his palms into the mattress, he rolled onto his back then to a sitting position on the end of the bed to stare down the barrel of a small caliber handgun pointed at his forehead. Above that floated Liliana's angry face.

"You're not from Wisconsin any more than I am. Who do you work for?"

Chuckling, he shook his head and got to his feet, slowly so as not to startle her. Going to the minibar, he took out two bottles of cream soda, twisted off the tops and handed one to Liliana. Letting his native Austrian accent creep back into his voice, he answered her question. "The same as you. L'Assemblée."

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together over her nose as she returned the weapon to its place of concealment. Her guardedness stayed in full view though as she sipped from the bottle then set it aside. "So this was another test."

"_Exactement_, Mademoiselle." Jesse switched over to French and Liliana followed his lead.

"Thought we'd gotten past that." She crossed her knees, the top foot bobbing up and down. "And the chopper crash? That was also a test?"

Getting to his feet again, Jesse dropped his empty bottle in the trash can. "Having him train Caruso as a pilot was the test. The crash was an accident."

"No, it wasn't. Ryland…" she dropped her eyes to the floor and the foot stopped moving, "He confronted the head mechanic. Greeley says it was a pilot named Emerson. The man is infuriated that he wasn't given the position."

Standing, Liliana picked up her purse and wrap, setting both in the chair, then slipped back into her heels. Going to the mirror, she took a gold lipstick case from her bag and made a show of reapplying the bright red color to her lips. Her eyes flicked over to him and back when he came to stand beside her. "The breaking of your engagement. That was staged, right?"

One shoulder went up and down. "We've been together so long getting married seemed like the next logical step. I thought that, once we were engaged, it would put an end to his jealousy and mistrust. Apparently, I was wrong yet again."

"And you're usually such a good judge of character. Sorry you were wrong twice in one day."

"What do you mean?"

He let a small ironic smile turn up one side of his mouth. "You were wrong about _me._"

The top snapped onto the lipstick tube and was dropped into her purse which she closed with an angry click. "I was _right_ about you not being who you said you were. Aside from the single lapse, my record remains intact." Liliana stopped with her hand on the door. "I suppose we'll run into each other at the estate."

"Since you and York are no long affianced, how would you feel about picking up where we left off?"

A short bark of laughter startled him, though he wasn't surprised at her response. "No. Good night."

And with that parting shot, Liliana was gone. That she'd seen through his subterfuge surprised and annoyed him. As long as he'd been in this game, no one had ever done so. Flopping down on the bed with his legs crossed at the ankles, he grabbed his cell phone and hit the speed dial. It was answered on the second ring. "Just checking in to let you know how the evening went…Oh, she's better than good. She played me from the beginning…In my opinion, no further testing is required of either of them…They would be of great use to our cause…I'll speak to William tonight…Of course. Good night, Roland."

Shutting off the cell with a grin, Jesse picked up the house phone and dialed room service. "Please send up a bottle of champagne…no, just one glass will do…_Merci_."

~~O~~

Sitting in his car across from the hotel, Ralph Emerson watched Lilana climb into a taxi. After following Jesse and her from the pub, he'd sat here waiting for her to come out, surprising him by doing so within thirty minutes. Either Jesse had crossed the finish line in record time, or he'd been shut down by a pro. At his age, it could've gone either way, but Emerson had his own ideas.

When Roland had hired York to take the position that should've been his, Emerson made a plan. Sabotaging the Zulu would take out York and whoever the trainee turned out to be, making it look like pilot error and cementing Emerson's place within the organization. But it hadn't worked out that way.

York and Caruso were still alive with York out for blood. _Yeah. __My__ blood._ Over the last few days, it had taken some fancy footwork to stay off York's radar. Emerson decided to give the man a few more days to calm down before meeting him.

Putting the car into gear, he followed the taxi carrying Liliana. It took her back to the pub where she went back inside. Through the window, he saw her take a seat at the bar. The bartender set a martini glass in front of her a short time later. She stirred the drink with her finger then licked the vodka off drawing the attention of the man beside her. He leaned over to speak to her, she responded. It had to be pretty scathing to go by the man's reaction. He picked up his glass and moved to the other end of the bar, turning his back on her.

Emerson hadn't seen everything that happened earlier, but from the way the men were casting sidelong glances at her without approaching told him all he needed to know. That and the rumors floating around the estate regarding the noises coming from the room she shared with York. Liliana Reese was hot, sexy, intensely passionate…and deadly. The last came directly from the people who'd taken her on as a sparring partner and lived to tell the tale, but only barely. Several had to be treated in the Infirmary for various bumps, bruises, scrapes, strains, and even one dislocated knee. And _no one_ made the same mistake twice.

Emerson prided himself on learning from other's mistakes and so he stayed out of her way as well. He had to make the occasional strategic withdrawal to keep his ass from being handed to him. Not to mention all the time he spent in his room was getting boring. Maybe he should take a punch, let York get it all out of his system now.

Taking her purse, Liliana walked to the back of the pub where the bathrooms were making Emerson chuckle to himself. The way she was drinking tonight, it's a wonder she didn't break an ankle in those heel.

He was just about to call it a night when the driver's door opened. He was dragged out onto the sidewalk and slammed face first against the side of the car. "What the _hell?_"

"_Why_ are you following me?" The voice that snarled in his ear was distinctly feminine and very pissed off. The pressure against his back let up just a little. "Turn around."

Never having been this close to her, Emerson wasn't prepared for the impact of seeing and feeling her sexuality first hand. It rolled off of her in waves accompanied by her penetrating gaze. In the space of a few heartbeats, he sensed that she knew everything about him. All his successes, and all his failures. And he'd just made the colossal mistake of making her angry.

He also noticed that she'd changed clothes. Gone was the slinky cocktail dress and spiked heels, replaced by a black jumpsuit and boots. Her purse and wrap had been exchanged for a Glock G19. The thick bands around her wrists glowed, a high pitched whine coming from them indicating they were charging. _Tasers?_ "What? A guy can't just sit in his car and relax?"

"That smart mouth's gonna get you in a world of hurt someday, Emerson."

"How'd you know…"

Her chin came up a fraction of an inch. "We make it a point to know who all the players are when we join a game in progress. Now answer the _question_."

"Heard you and York broke up. Wanted to see if…"

"If I needed someone to help take my mind off my broken heart?" She snorted contemptuously. "Break-ups happen. No need to cry over it."

Shrugging, Emerson slowly lowered his hands to his sides though he didn't shove them into his pockets. He kept them unrestricted in case he had to defend himself. Keeping his eyes on her face, he watched for an opening, a crack in her defenses. "Good for you. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to be on my way."

Releasing the Glock's hammer, Liliana stuck it into the holster nestled against her left thigh. "I catch you doing this again to _anyone_ there won't be a place on Earth you can't hide from me. Got it?"

All through their short conversation, Emerson had kept sense of arrogance wrapped around himself like a cloak, but the tone of her voice as it dropped down a half octave lifted one corner of that self-importance making him feel vulnerable. "Yeah. I do." He pointed toward the driver's seat through the still open car door. "I'm going to get in and drive away now. I'd appreciate it if you didn't shoot me in the back."

Liliana scoffed. "If I wanted you dead, you would be."

~~O~~

Emerson started into the turn that would take him into the car. He turned back at Natasha's next words. "One more thing, Emerson."

The pilot made it clear that his patience was coming to an end. "What?"

He was still facing mostly away from her, turning his head so he could look directly at her. She brought her left fist up and around to hit him so hard he fell to the ground, blood welling up where one of her Widow's Bites had had scraped his cheek leaving a two inch gash. He'd have a scar for a long time. "_That's_ for trying to kill Ryland."

Touching the wound with his fingers, he hissed in pain. "You're standing up for a guy you just _dumped?_"

She injected contempt into her tone. "You know nothing of loyalty, do you? Ryland and I may not be a couple anymore, but we've always had each other's back and that's never going to change. I have _killed_ people for less than what you tried to do to him. My advice is to find another job while your ass is still in one piece."

With that parting shot, Natasha turned her back on him and jogged across the street to her car. Emerson took off before she unlocked the door. She deactivated the Widow's Bites and pulled them off, exchanging them for her cell phone. "It's me…Yes, my date with Jesse is over. Told you it was another test…I'll be there soon so you should find another place to sleep for a few days…_Why?_ Because we _broke up_, _Eblan_…And we should wait at least a week to make up…Because it will give Jesse a reason to keep sniffing around so I can use my wiles to find out the names of those calling the shots…Yes. I'll stream the video to HQ so we know who we're dealing with so far…By the way, Emerson won't be a problem anymore…_B__ozhe moi!_ Are you _seriously_ asking that question? Didn't think so…Bye."

Natasha hit the end key then used her thumb to send a secure transmission to Special Agent Hill on board the helicarrier. Yes, they had an app for that developed by SHIELD. One side of her mouth turned upward at the irony that SHIELD's R&D had invented the technology that experienced widespread use by the general public now that the clandestine government agency had moved well beyond that level of functionality.

A beep told her when transmission was complete. Tucking the device that looked like an ordinary cell phone into the side pocket of her jumpsuit, Natasha pushed a hand through her hair while fighting a yawn and genuinely considering a change of vocation. However, what she would do if she was no longer a spy escaped her. Perhaps she could be an instructor for SHIELD. One where she would be under the radar for a while. Then, one day, SHIELD's next generation of agents would look upon exploits of the Black Widow as legend, or even urban myth. She and Clint would share a secretive smile and say nothing.

And what of her partner? If she left the field, would Clint refuse to be assigned to someone new and quit in a fit of rage? Insist on flying solo going forward? Return to his previous escapades as a matchmaker, again trying to fix her up with Steve Rogers?

Thoughts of Captain America and the one mission they'd worked together had her fighting an eye roll. Steve was a man out of time, coming as he did from an era where men and women didn't fall into bed together at the first opportunity. Friends with benefits was a completely foreign concept to him. Not that it was a bad thing. Far from it. But that mind-set had inhibited his reactions to her, especially in public. Like now with Clint, the assignment had been to pose as a couple. To solidify their identities and intimate relationship required them to engage in public displays of affection beyond hand holding.

To help him become comfortable with the concept, Natasha insisted on them practicing, but every time they kissed, he held back. Then when it was time, it had taken all her persuasive abilities just to convince him to call her _MIlaya moyA_ in front of others. Gazing up at him with affection, she had waited for him to kiss her. And waited. Finally, she slipped her hand around the back of his neck, initiating it herself. At first, he held himself stiffly, but she was patient and eventually, Steve relaxed into their embrace. Later, he'd confessed that his reluctance had sprung from the fact that he thought of her as Clint's girl and felt kissing her was tantamount to cheating. She'd assured him that there was nothing between her and Clint. In fact, the archer would probably tease them both mercilessly if he found out.

Shaking her head and grinning, Natasha started the car, but didn't feel like returning to the estate just yet. Thinking about Steve's admission naturally brought her around to Anton as most of her thoughts did these days. She would not allow Anton or Clint know of her conflicted emotions. Anton would most likely be embarrassed and Clint would have yet another reason to tease her. Besides, when this mission was over, Anton and their time together in the hidden courtyard would again be relegated to the back of her mind. Or would it? At this exact moment, she wasn't certain of anything.

She drove aimlessly through the streets of Rennes for the next couple of hours. Then, too tired to go all the way back to the estate, she checked in at one of the smaller hotels. In the room, she took off the skin hugging black jumpsuit, exchanging it for the fluffy white bathrobe hanging in the closet. Taking a bottle of Ricqlès from the minibar, she twisted off the top and took a long drink. When it was gone, she dropped the bottle in the trash and brushed her teeth.

Padding barefoot out to the bed, Natasha untied the belt and let the soft material slide down to pool at her feet. She lay down, the sheets cool against her overheated skin. It felt good. Switching off the light, she listened to the sounds of the city, watching the soft glow of headlights flicker briefly on the walls and ceiling every time a car passed by. Like Clint, she could fall asleep quickly and under almost any condition. But tonight, though her body cried out for the respite, she needed to meditate first, to banish Anton from her mind so he wouldn't invade her dreams again. The battle was lost before she'd completed ten repetitions of the Hong-Sau mantra. And just as she feared, the dream Anton was there waiting for her.

In the morning, she prepared for the next step in the plan she and Clint had concocted. They would stage another fight and she would be so upset by it that Jesse would offer his comfort as a balm to her broken heart. Then, once she'd wormed her way into his affections, she'd get him to give up the names of the people in charge. SHIELD would be notified and the members of L'Assemblée would be rounded up and sent off to prison for many years.

Scanning her card at the entrance to the dormitories, Natasha responded absently to the greetings she received from those she passed in the hall, seeming, for all intents and purposes to have other things on her mind. She did, just not what they thought.

Reaching for the door control, she was startled when it was opened from the inside, Clint standing there looking sheepish and awkward, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey."

Making a sound of derision, Natasha swept past him and into the room, throwing her clothes from the previous night on the bed. "I told you to get out."

Leaving the door open so that everyone could hear, Clint shrugged and took several hesitant steps in her direction. Keeping her eyes averted, she took clean clothes from the dresser and went into the bathroom. He followed, standing outside, holding her engagement ring and talking to her while she changed. "I was kinda hoping you'd cooled down so we could talk."

"Not in the mood, Ry. Just get your things and go."

"Will you come out of there so we can talk?"

The water came on drowning out anything else Clint said. Going to the door but not opening it, Natasha responded as Liliana, with tears in her voice. "There's nothing more to say. Please leave."

A low growl came from Clint's throat telling Natasha that the escalation was coming. He slammed a fist against the wall. "Dammit, I _know_ what this is about, Liliana! It's that _guy_. The one you're seeing behind my back. What's his name? Huh? Tell me 'cause I'm gonna kick his ass!"

Clint jumped back when she jerked the door open, glaring up at him with her arms hanging down at her sides. No matter how many times they'd performed this exact scene, it always felt real while they were doing it, and her palms would itch with the need to punch his lights out. "How many times do I have to _say_ it? There hasn't been anyone but you in a long time."

"What about the fling you had with Caruso?"

She shook a finger in his face. "That was two _years_ ago and we weren't engaged. _You_ walked away that time, and I figured we were through. Can't you just let it go?"

"Let it _go?_" He spread his hands out to the sides still favoring his left arm due to the audience they'd gathered. "How do I know you haven't cheated on me again?"

"Why can't you just believe me that there isn't anyone else?" Pushing past Clint, Natasha headed for the open door, the few people brave enough to let themselves be seen blatantly watching the argument moving out of the way with all due haste.

Clint grabbed her hand swinging her around to face him. "Because of your past actions." Her breath hitching, a single tear slid down her cheek. Keeping her back to their audience, Natasha gave Clint an imperceptible nod. Without responding, he upped the ante by saying, "I should've listened to my friends. They said you were a little sl…"

Natasha didn't give Clint a chance to complete his thought. Her left hand came up and slapped him so hard his head jerked to the side. His eyes widened in shock, and he winced when she said through clenched teeth, "_Get_ _out!_"

"Fine. I'll go sleep in the men's dorm. When you're ready to be reasonable, come get me."

"Don't hold your breath. On second thought, maybe you should."

With an angry grunt, Clint grabbed his duffle bag and pushed his way past the few hearty souls who stayed for the fireworks. Margaret shooed everyone away and softly closed the door. "I'm sorry. The two of you seemed to much in love."

"We were. Once."

"I wish there was something I could say that would take the sadness away."

Turning to face Margaret, Natasha put on a brave smile. "Only time will do that. If you don't mind, I need to be alone for a while."

Nodding, the other woman left the room, closing the door behind her. To give the illusion of mourning the break-up of her engagement, Natasha used the time alone to do calisthenics and perform several of the more complex martial arts routines she knew. By the time she finished, it was well past lunch time, and though she was hungry, she would go to the dining room for coffee, but turn down offers of food. At least in the beginning.

Checking the clock, Natasha saw that there was more than enough time for her to shower and change. If her calculations were correct, Jesse would be around soon to offer sympathy, and that's when the real fun would begin. She would let him convince her to go out for a drink to talk. After a few days of that, their encounters would become more and more intimate until it was time to spring the trap.

~~O~~

Sitting in the common area pretending to read, Anton kept his eyes and ears focused on the whispered conversations of the others. Clint and Natasha had broken their engagement, and rumor had it, alleged infidelity on Natasha's part had been the main motivating factor. From what they were saying and the looks he was getting, Anton made the assumption that it was he who had led Natasha astray.

To give the rumors credence, he set his book aside and went to knock on Natasha's door. She let him in, both making certain that he was seen. A few minutes later, he escorted her to the dining room where he got her a cup of tea and a coffee for himself. They sat together talking quietly and to prove that they weren't having an intimate conversation, they invited others to join them, Anton giving the excuse that Natasha needed cheering up.

When the group broke up hours later, Anton told her that he would be doing a recon on the one corridor that he hadn't been allowed access to and would report back the next morning.

Natasha shook her head. "I should go. Alone."

"Oh? Remind me how long I've been on this op. If I'm seen, it won't be suspicious. Whereas if _you're_ caught…"

"I won't. Not unless I want to be."

Shaking his head at her stubbornness that hadn't changed over the years, he gave in gracefully. "We'll go together. One hour after lights out."

Carrying her cup to the pass through, Natasha said, "Sounds like a plan. Now if you don't mind, I have to go cry myself to sleep."

Rolling his eyes, Anton watched her leave then turned in the opposite direction.

Hours later, he and Natasha met as planned. She would take care of looping the video and audio feeds to give the appearance of empty hallways while Anton bypassed the motion, pressure and heat sensors that guarded the entrance to the secured area.

Before beginning, the two spies ducked into an unused office to go over the plan one more time. Anton had ideas, but wanted Natasha's input. "Suggestions?"

"We get in, find the head honcho's office, hack in and download their files onto a thumb drive. Easy-peasy."

"When you say it like that, it _sounds_ easy. What if…"

Natasha put her hand up for silence, cocking her head to the side, listening. She had to have exceptional hearing because he hadn't heard the voices until she pointed them out. Footsteps stopped outside the office they'd taken refuge in, forcing them to scramble to find a hiding place. The closet was barely big enough for the two of them. Anton shut the door just as the hall door opened to admit two men.

Anton could feel Natasha's warm breath on the middle of his chest through the material of his black shirt. There was so little room that he had to put his hands against the opposite wall to keep from leaning against her too hard. There was almost no light. Only what peeked through the space at floor level. It was just enough for him to be able to see Natasha's eyes looking up at him in the dark. In those hazel orbs he saw not one speck of fear that they might be caught. Instead, he saw something else. A softening of the hardness he'd seen there when they met at the courtyard. A ghost of the feelings they'd shared not so long ago. He felt it and knew she did as well.

Forcing himself to concentrate on their mission, he ignored the emotions that Natasha once again stirred within him as they waited for the men to leave. Or rather he tried. Her hands came up to rest on his hips. She flexed her fingers to get his attention, mouthing two names. He nodded in agreement. Emerson and Sutton, with Sutton doing most of the talking, and what they were saying shouldn't have come as a surprise.

"_When will they be here?_" Emerson. The pilot sounded arrogant even when being submissive to another. The desk creaked when someone, probably Sutton, sat on the edge.

"_A week. Everything has to be in place by then._" Sutton's voice had taken on a hard edge.

Emerson again, "_How many are with us?_"

A snort came from Sutton. "_Enough._"

"_What about the new people? Think they'll get in the way?_"

"_York and Liliana aren't speaking now that they've broken up. I doubt they have much else on their minds at the moment._" His laughter was cutting. "_I'll take care of getting __her__ out of the building. And York's overseeing the repairs on the Zulu so he won't be in the way_."

Through the door, Anton heard Emerson shifting his feet. "_When the time comes, I want to be the one who takes that a*****e York down._"

"_Be my guest. And don't look so worried, Emerson. This coup will go off like clockwork. William and Emily won't know what hit them. Soon, you and I will be calling the shots for __L'Assemblée__, and making the big money. You'll see. The plan is foolproof._"

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 8**

Jesse held up a hand when a muffled thump came from the closet. Taking out his weapon, he nodded to Emerson who counted to three and jerked the door open, the weapon aimed between Caruso's eyes. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

Caruso held a stack of lined pads in one hand and a handful of pens in the other. "I came to get supplies."

"Why?"

Snorting, Caruso grinned. "Liliana asked for them. Didn't say why."

"Elizabeth has the supplies. You shouldn't be here."

"Liliana specified red and Elizabeth was out." He shrugged. "Learned a long time ago, it's easier to give Liliana what she wants. Saves time in the long run."

Jesse peered at him with suspicion. "What did you hear?"

"Relax, Sutton. I don't like York any more than you do. The way he's treated Liliana, he should be beaten and left for dead. I won't get in your way, and as long as I get paid, it doesn't matter who signs the checks."

Jesse eyed Caruso for another few seconds then replaced the gun in its holster. "Get out. But stay alert. This thing's going down in a few days."

"With William, Emily, Roland and York as casualties?"

"As long as no one else gets in the way."

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to facilitate the change of command." Caruso left, pulling the door shut behind him.

The two men waited until they heard the secure door at the end of the hall open and close before speaking.

"Think he's telling the truth?" Emerson wanted to know.

Nodding, Jesse pushed the closet door closed. "Yes. Rumor has it that Caruso and Reese had a thing a few years back." Jesse led the way to the outer door. Once on the other side, he made a decision. "Caruso wants to be a part of this. Have him do York. I want it done before Emily and William arrive. If it turns out that he's lying, we take him out as well."

~~O~~

Jesse and his pal Emerson were gone about fifteen seconds when the closet door slowly opened. From above, Natasha peered over the upper edge of the door jamb to check out the room before swinging down from the top shelf to land in a crouch. At the door, she listened for the men to leave then made her way to the secured entrance to the leader's offices. In a joint op, it made sense to split the duties between them, but Natasha didn't need help to bypass the security protocols. She could do it herself and had many times.

Thirty minutes later, she removed all traces of her incursion, reset the alarms and returned to her room in frustration of a very different sort than that she'd experienced while she and Anton had been jammed into the tiny closet. Her conditioning allowed her to shunt those feelings aside in order to get the job done.

The information SHIELD and MI6 wanted was inaccessible due to being guarded by a retinal scanner. In order to fool it, she first had to have a 3D image of the eyes that were in the system. Something like what Loki had done in Stuttgart, but without killing the "donor."

_Looks like I'll have to offer myself to Jesse after all._ The idea didn't appeal to her. Had _never_ appealed to her, but even less now that she knew what he was planning. It didn't matter that she didn't have the details of the plan. She'd gone into an op with less and brought it all home. And foiling their coup would get the agents in good with the top dogs where they'd take them down without too much fuss.

Now all she had to do was let Anton and Clint know what was going on without arousing suspicion. Leaving them a note was out of the question. Anton she could speak to in person, but with Clint and her not on speaking terms, getting to him would be more difficult.

Or would it? She grinned to herself. _Piece of cake!_

In her room, she tossed the gloves in a drawer then changed into sleep pants and a tank top. Her feet bare, Natasha walked back to the common area, pointedly ignoring Clint sitting in a corner reading a magazine, and spoke a young woman with olive skin reading from a Kindle.

The woman couldn't have been more than mid-twenties, the expression on her face reminding Natasha of a naive schoolgirl who had once been in love with a handsome young man who had loved her back. Mentally shaking her head, she smiled. "It seems the vent in my bathroom is broken. How do I get it fixed?"

The woman, dark haired with light green eyes, returned her smile. "Elizabeth handles all maintenance requests. She should still be in her office. I'd be happy to tell her for you."

"Thank you, uh…"

"Mary. Mary Shelly. And you're Liliana."

Natasha nodded, noting that Mary's accent pointed to her roots in Manchester, England. "Please let her know it's not urgent."

Mary dipped her chin shyly. "Louise tells me that we'll be working together soon."

"I'm looking forward to it." Returning to her room, Natasha noticed that Clint was no longer in the corner brooding. Good. That meant he'd gotten the message. While Clint was doing what he had to do, Natasha went to Anton's room. He let her in and she stood in the middle of the floor feeling self-conscious. Something she never was, except with him. She had the urge to cross her arms in a defensive posture, but forced herself not to.

Anton broke their stalemate by pulling out the desk chair and offering her a seat. "I'm guessing you did a little recon work after they left. What did you find out?"

Dropping into the chair, Natasha exuded an aura of calm and relaxed as he plopped onto the end of the bed. "Not much. The computer systems in the secure area are protected by retinal scanners. Probably tamper resistant too so I didn't bother trying to hack in. Stark could probably do it, but I haven't the skills. And if I were caught…"

"That would've been bad." Silence fell between them once more and neither seemed inclined to break it. Finally, Anton said, "When this is over, we need to talk."

Getting to her feet, preparing to flee, Natasha said, "I don't think that's a good idea, Dante."

Using his assumed name was her way of reminding Anton that they were still on their mission. She also hoped he would understand her reluctance and let it go. _You're living in a fool's paradise._

Anton stood as well, coming to a stop close enough that she had to tilt her head back to see his face. It was almost as if he were purposely trying to make her nervous.

"Why not?" She didn't respond and he pounced on her silence. "You're afraid." She started to protest, but he overrode her feeble attempts. "You're afraid you might start to feel again, aren't you?"

"What do you mean, _again?_ I'm _not_ an automaton. I feel…"

Slowly, as if he were giving her a chance to avoid it, he raised his hand, using his forefinger to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She suppressed a shiver when just that small touch reminded her of how it felt to have him close, to be able to touch him whenever she wanted. And she wanted to now.

His fingers lingered, his palm cupping her cheek, and without meaning to, Natasha turned into that touch, rubbing her cheek against the roughness. Her eyes closed as she drank in the sensation of his thumb lightly stroking her skin. A moment later, Anton's left hand took up a similar position to the right so that her face was gently cradled between them.

As if they were no longer under her control, Natasha's hands moved up to Anton's waist and slid around to his back, pulling him toward her. As a teen, she had known that they fitted together like interlocking pieces of a puzzle, and it felt wonderful to have confirmation that it was still true. She lifted her eyes to his, those dark eyes dashing over her features and back to lock with hers. Pressing his mouth first to her forehead then the right cheek, the left cheek, he again brushed his thumbs over her cheekbones. She thought he would stop there, forcing her to take the initiative, but then, his lips finally pressed against hers, and for the first time in fifteen years, she loosened her grip on the reins that kept her emotions under control, allowing them to be free once more.

~~O~~

Their lips touched, and Anton knew that it had been predestined from the moment they set eyes on each other in the courtyard. Natasha's eyes drifted shut and a long sigh vibrated through her allowing him to feel it where their chests grazed each other.

Her hands flexed, the short nails lightly digging into the flesh above his hips a moment before her hands slid up his back, over the sharp edges of his shoulder blades and strong trapezius muscles to grip his shirt and bring them even closer.

His body reacted in a predictable fashion as his arms hugged her to him while they ravaged each other's mouths. Letting his hands moved down her back, he felt every bump of her spine, the womanly curves of her hips and the round firmness of her backside. But he didn't stop there. When he touched the backs of her thighs, she made a little jump, wrapping her legs around his waist. She was telling him with her actions that she was ready and willing to bring this to its logical conclusion.

Turning toward the bed, Anton had only taken a single step when a knock on the door startled them into immobility. He let go, Natasha sliding down the front of his body and immediately stepping away. The knock came again, a female voice following.

"_Dante? It's Tilda_."

Anton gave Natasha a sheepish grin and a shrug that said _she won't leave me alone._

Natasha gave him a questioning glance, one eyebrow raised. _Really?_

He returned that look with another of his own. _Really! Nothing I've done has worked. Ideas?_

All her weight shifted onto one foot, her lips pursing. _Leave it to me._ She pointed her chin at the door, holding up both hands with all fingers extended.

"Be right there!" Going to the door, Anton counted to ten then opened the door just a crack to let Tilda know she'd interrupted something important. "Hey. What's up?"

The young woman, brown-haired and nearly as tall as Anton in her heels, tiptoed trying to see past him into the room. "I was wondering if you'd like to…do you have company?"

The bed creaked and a husky female voice called out, "Dante, _querido_. Come back to bed."

"_Un momento, por favor._" Anton returned his attention to Tilda. "What were you saying?"

"A small group is going into town and I thought you might like to join us, but it looks like you're busy." Her expression collapsed so quickly, Anton almost felt bad for deceiving her. Almost. "Another time, perhaps."

He glanced over his shoulder and back. "I appreciate the offer, but…"

"Of course. Good night."

Closing the door, Anton turned around and leaned against it hoping to avoid the awkwardness that had already begun to creep into the room, knowing it would be impossible. And sure enough, when he looked at Natasha, she was frowning in embarrassment just as he was. Getting to her feet, she came toward him, her expression a warning not to say anything. He opened the door so she could leave with dignity. She hesitated in the doorway, and he thought she would speak, but she didn't.

Again Anton leaned against the closed door, rubbing both hands down his face and growling. He wavered between frustration and embarrassment, uncertain which he should be feeling, if either. At the time that Natasha and he had known each other as teenagers, he'd wanted to be close to her in every way, but hadn't dared. Natasha-_Natalia_ had seemed so innocent, so naïve that he'd kept a firm hold on his desires waiting for the time to be right for both of them. He'd been just as innocent then, too, and had wanted her to be his first. But that "privilege" had gone to his lab partner in medical school. He and Betsy had been an item for only a month when she dropped out. No one knew why, or they wouldn't say. He never saw her again.

Going to the bed, he looked at the wrinkles in the spread showing the imprint of Natasha's slim body and sighed loudly. "Right. Cold shower."

~~O~~

Carefully checking to be sure she wasn't seen, Natasha returned to her own room by taking the back way and thankfully not running into anyone, specifically, Tilda. She agreed with Anton on one point. The woman _was_ persistent. Natasha had evaluated her as a prospective student, but determined that her talents lay in a different direction. A situation that did not set well with Tilda at all. As in her pursuit of Anton, she'd hounded Natasha day after day, imploring, and sometimes demanding, that she change her mind. But Natasha could tell within a few minutes of meeting Tilda that she wouldn't fare well in the art of seduction. She felt the same about Margaret, but Elizabeth and Roland had been adamant that the French girl be trained. The other students were Natasha's own choices.

Natasha slammed the door closed behind her, allowing herself to be mortified at what had nearly happened with Anton. If she were to be completely honest, with herself at least, the attraction between them had been smoldering from the moment they met in the hidden courtyard more than fifteen years ago, and had fanned to life upon their most recent meeting.

Plopping down on the side of the bed, she dropped her face into her hands and groaned. Her head came up sharply when a voice filled with humor crossed the room to tap her on the shoulder.

"_You've_ been a naughty girl." Clint's tone told her he already knew the answer. He watched her with a smug, knowing grin that made her want to smack him.

Averting her eyes, Natasha lifted one shoulder and let it drop. "Don't know what you're talking about."

That made Clint laugh out loud. "Then why do you have sex hair?"

"What?!" Vaulting from the bed, she ran into the bathroom to look at her reflection and seeing that her hair was sticking up at crazy angles. "Crap!"

"I wondered how long it would take you and your ex to get down to it."

Swinging around, her glare pinning him with its intensity, she firmly stated, "We didn't…it's not what you think. We were…debriefing on the recon of the secure area." She wet her hands and used it to make the blonde strands lay down while trying to ignore Clint's silent snickers. "Why are you _here_, _Eblan?_"

Sitting in the corner with his arms crossed and that supercilious grin, Natasha's palms itched with the desire to make him stop. Getting to his feet, he dragged the chair out the middle of the room then picked up her brush. Obediently, she sat down feeling one hand slip under her hair, his knuckles grazing the back of her neck. It tickled, but didn't arouse her in the way that just having Anton in the same room with her did. "I got your message. What did you find out?"

"Very little. The system's protected by a retinal scanner."

"We could question the others. Find out what they know. Discreetly, of course." His voice had softened, losing its covering of humor. Now his tone was distracted, almost nostalgic. He always got like that when he brushed her hair, making her wonder what he was thinking when he did it. "So, you and Riddle gonna get together again soon?"

Huffing, Natasha didn't respond.

"Not that it's any of _my_ business, but I was gonna start a pool and was hoping to get a heads up."

Jumping up, Natasha snatched the brush from him, brandishing it like a club, her teeth clenched. "Don't you have someplace you should be?"

"Yes. In my room nursing a broken heart." Going into the bathroom, Clint climbed onto the counter and that's when she noticed the vent was open. He hoisted himself into the hole then stuck his head for one last parting shot. "Now that you and Riddle have done the Mattress Mambo, I guess our engagement really _is_ off."

His head disappeared when Natasha lobbed the brush at him. She missed, the brush clattering against the mirror and landing in the sink. When the echoing sounds of her partner crawling through the ventilation system faded, she stood on the chair to close the vent. Booting up her computer, Natasha hacked into the ventilation system to short out the part of the system that controlled that duct for when maintenance came to work on it.

While she was annoyed at Clint's insinuations, she also thanked him for caring enough to give her grief over Anton. He only teased people he liked, even if he would die before admitting it. Stark was a perfect example, and the billionaire gave as good as he got. With Thor, it was more that the Asgardian didn't understand most of Clint's references, making their conversations all the funnier. Clint didn't have much in common with Banner though they still bantered. And Steve, well he bore the brunt of Clint's wit with calm dignity, often not giving his remarks the honor of a response, but when he did…watch out!

Yanking the covers down with more force than was necessary, Natasha slid between the cool sheets and lay there looking up at the ceiling, wondering if Anton were doing the same.

~~O~~

The next day, Anton was in the gym sparring with a fellow going by the name of Jack London. London had just gotten in a lucky shot that culminated with Anton on his back with the wind knocked out of him when Emerson came in. The two men ignored him until it was time for a break.

His face set in a scowl, Emerson nodded for London to leave and he did so with all haste. It got Anton to thinking about the power Emerson would wield once the planned coup was concluded. To the MI6 agent that meant London was part of the scheme. Something to keep in mind.

Anton took a long drink from the water bottle held in one hand, waiting for Emerson to get to the point.

"Still want in?"

Rubbing the towel over his face and around his neck, Anton snorted. "What do _you_ think? Roland wanted the best, and that's what he got. Doesn't mean I have to like the guy. Only a small part of it has to do with Liliana. As for the rest, he's always been a jerk."

"Sutton wants him taken care of now so he won't get in the way later."

Not surprised at the order, Anton nodded once. "Consider it done."

Taking another sip of water, the MI6 agent planned his next course of action that would start with a shower and change of clothes before heading in to dinner.

Two days later, he went to the maintenance hangar. "York."

Clint looked up from where he and Greeley had their hands and heads inside the Zulu's engine. "Yeah?"

"Getting bored with nothing to do. How about we go up in the Cessna for a quick lesson or three?"

Without missing a beat, Clint looked to Greeley for his opinion. The mechanic shrugged and nodded. "Go. I got this."

After wiping his hands on a rag, Clint shucked the grease stained jumpsuit and led the way to the hangar that housed a Cessna Skycatcher. When they were in the air, Anton turned to Clint, a Ruger in his right hand. "There's been a change of plans, York."

"What's going on, Caruso?" Clint's voice was tight with anger, his hands clenching on the throttle.

Anton's tone was light and casual. "Your services are no longer required."

"I'm being fired?"

"Not exactly. Think of it as retirement, but without the need for a pension." Anton fired off three shots in quick succession.

Bright splotches of red blossomed across Clint's chest. He looked down then back at Anton. "Sonofab****. You shot me."

Clint passed out, slumping against the side window. Returning the weapon to its holster, Anton took the controls and aimed for the bay off Cancale. As they'd been headed in that general direction, it didn't take long until the plane was over water. Setting the autopilot, Anton wrestled Clint's body into the back, opened the door and shoved him out, watched for the splash then shut the door and returned to his seat. "This is Sierra-Tango-Victor one-three-seven calling the tower. I need your help. The pilot jumped out. I'm alone and have no idea how to land this thing."

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 9**

Anton was a fair pilot in his own right though not on a par with Clint, but no one at L'Assemblée knew. To keep his cover intact now that Clint was out of the picture, the MI6 agent had to play the game. He listened carefully as Greeley gave instructions and an hour later, Anton made an imperfect three-point landing on the estate's runway.

A group had gathered to watch and they surged forward to congratulate Anton on a job well done. Natasha pushed her way through the crowd to his side, holding in her emotions with difficulty. Eyes filled with sadness, she clutched at his arm. "Where's Ryland? Dante, please. Where is he?"

"I'm so sorry, Liliana. We got in the air; he turned the controls over to me then went in the back. I thought he was getting a thermos or a bottle of water. He started talking about how much he loved you and couldn't live without you in his life. Next thing I know, he opened the door and jumped. He just…I-I couldn't stop him."

The fingers holding his wrist contracted to the point of pain. Just as quickly, Natasha released him, turned and ran back toward the main building. Anton made to go after her, stopped by Margaret's hand on his arm. "I will go. Jesse is waiting for you. He said to come to same place as last time."

Margaret trotted off in the same direction they'd seen Natasha go. The crowd around Anton and Greeley had gotten very quiet though he didn't know if it was Margaret's message or the knowledge of Clint's "death." Whatever the cause, it had an ominous feel to it.

Excusing himself, Anton headed for the requested meeting with Jesse wondering why Emerson hadn't been sent as an emissary as he had in the past. _Guess I'll find out._

Inside the main building, Anton knocked on the door of the room where he and Natasha had hidden the night before, entering when Jesse's voice called out, "Come in."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Congratulations on a job well done. You not only removed York from the equation, you convinced him to do the deed himself."

Instead of clasping his hands behind his back in an attitude of respect, Anton chose to go another route by shoving them into his pockets. "He didn't. I shot him and pushed him out the door. While waiting for Greeley to get me down, I cleaned up the blood. There wasn't much because I know how to inflict the maximum amount of damage with minimum clean-up."

"However it was accomplished, it did the trick. York was the type who'd fight for the underdog. He wouldn't be swayed by promises, flowery words or even money. He'd rather save William and Emily than eliminate them from the power base. You, on the other hand, can be bought by the highest bidder."

Without invitation, Anton dropped into the only other chair and crossed his knees. "I've done as you asked so, as the Americans say, let's talk turkey."

"Where should we start?"

"From what I know of your plans, which, granted, isn't much, you'd like this to go off with as little drama as possible." Anton paused while Jesse leaned back in his chair and motioned for him to continue. "I know where you can get what you need to achieve your goal."

Despite his attempts to remain unmoved by Anton's words, Jesse's interest was piqued. "Go on."

"As I see it, brains, you got in abundance. What _you_ need is brawn, and I know where you can get it for the price of dinner and a movie."

Now Anton had Jesse's full attention. "I'm listening.

~~O~~

Dressed in one of the shapeless jumpsuits, her hair covered with a bandana, Tilda performed the routine maintenance on the Cessna by rote. It was the same one that York used committed suicide the previous day. Not that she cared one way or the other. All she could think about was how angry she still felt since interrupting Dante and the ***** he was sleeping with.

She hated the work, smelling like engine grease, the jumpsuits. And most of all, she hated Greeley. Some days, she could barely make herself get out of bed, and when she did, the better part of the day was spent cursing her father for forcing her to learn the family business.

Her brother had been gung ho about working at their aircraft maintenance company, but Tilda wanted to work for a large clothing design firm and start her own line. Halfway through her first semester in Paris, her brother had a horrible car accident, his injuries so severe he could no longer do the job he loved. On her visit home, their father made it clear that she would take over Gary's place, no questions asked. So, like a good daughter, Tilda meekly agreed. When she was certain Gary would survive, she had packed everything she owned and returned to Paris.

But the longed for position with the Gautier Design Group had not materialized as planned. Madame Gautier had personally fired her after first demeaning her creations in public, pronouncing them pedestrian and boring, lacking in imagination. Out of a job and nearly broke, Tilda had been forced to take whatever work she could to stay alive, refusing to grovel in front of her father. And that was how she'd ended up working for L'Assemblée.

The day Liliana had come to the estate she had set her sights in a new direction. The American's job was to train women in espionage and seduction, but Liliana had thwarted her at every turn. And every time she did, it reminded her of Madame Gautier, though to be fair Liliana was much kinder in her reasoning, never disgracing her in front of others.

To make matters even worse, she'd been further humiliated by Dante. Since the day they met, she'd wanted him and she would have him, but first, she had to get rid of his lover. An event that was made more difficult by the fact that she hadn't seen the woman in Dante's room. Tilda had discreetly questioned all the Spanish-speaking members, but none had admitted to being with Dante that night. One of them had to be lying, but which one?

Opening the door, she climbed into the Cessna's pilot seat. Setting her toolbox within easy reach, she got to work, cursing when she dropped a screwdriver. Reaching down to the floorboard to retrieve it, her fingers touched a sticky spot, like someone had spilled something. Drinking and eating in the planes and helicopters wasn't forbidden, but there were standing orders that everyone cleans up their own mess.

Aiming her flashlight downward, she examined the floor and found a red smear the size of a cantaloupe that looked like blood. Tilda searched the cabin and found more drops and a scuff mark on one of the seat backs. If York had jumped as Dante claimed, where did the blood come from?

Using the flat edge of the screwdriver, she scraped some of the red substance off the floorboard then wrapped a napkin around the end to preserve it. The solution wasn't perfect, but she didn't have a choice.

Normally, Tilda would change out of the hideous jumpsuit before returning the main building, but this was too important to take the time. She went straight to the clinic. "Doctor?"

The woman was hunched over her desk typing at the computer. She looked up with an annoyed frown. "What is it, Ms. Houston? I'm very busy."

"I don't mean to interrupt, but this is important." She took the screwdriver from her pocket and unwrapped the napkin. "I need you to test this to see if its blood."

Putting her glasses on, the doctor accepted the tool, peering closely at the substance then sniffing it. "Smells like blood."

"That's what I thought too." Tilda followed the doctor to the small lab and waited while she did a test. The blue color change confirmed her theory. "How long will it take to find out whose blood it is?"

The doctor sighed. "American television writers would have you believe that it can be done nearly instantaneously. In real life, the timeframe is much longer, depending on the lab and the backlog."

Huffing, Tilda rubbed her forehead to ease the ache that had started there just a few minutes ago. "How _long?_"

"I can have it for you in a few hours. Come back after nine tonight."

"I thought it took forty-eight hours."

The doctor smiled. "Maybe for the rest of the world, but not here."

Tilda left the clinic to return to work, and this time she didn't mind it all. If the presence of blood in the Cessna meant what she thought it did, then she had Dante right where she wanted him. He would do whatever she asked and he wouldn't be able to do a thing about it or she'd make sure he paid.

~~O~~

The quinjet hovered above the gentle waves as Clint climbed up onto the open hatch. At the top of the ramp stood Special Agent Hill, a towel dangling from one hand. Her normally impassive expression had crossed into one Clint called her OS look. OS stood for Oh, ****. It meant trouble was coming.

He accepted the towel, drying his face then rubbing his short hair with it. Now that he could see Hill up close, she looked more sad than angry. "What's wrong, Hill? You look like someone just ran over your dog."

She looked down at the floor. "I don't have a dog."

Rolling his eyes, Clint toed off his shoes and shed his wet socks. Next, he peeled off the T-shirt plastered to his torso and the makeshift blast pack attached to his chest. He dried front and back then pulled on the long sleeved T-shirt lying on the bench together with dry pants and shoes. With a total lack of modesty, he pushed his cargo pants and boxers down to his ankles and kicked them away. Shivering in the coolness of the quinjet, he rushed to finish dressing.

Glancing into the cockpit, he saw Davis and Warnowski at the controls where he expected to see his girlfriend. "Hey, where's Wolf?"

Hill hesitated imperceptibly before saying, "Please sit down, Clint."

He did as she asked, using the towel to dry his bare feet while Hill remained standing. Whatever was going on, it was serious if she called him by his first name. She adjusted her position as if she'd been standing for hours instead of minutes. "Come on, Hill. You're makin' me nervous here."

"Senior Airman Adele Wolf, her co-pilot, Junior Airman James Franz, Gamma and Epsilon squads were on a rescue mission when a severe electrical storm came up. They took several massive hits before the lightning overloaded their systems. With no power, they dropped like a stone into the North Atlantic."

Hill paused while he digested the information. She wouldn't bother with the details unless...

"There were no survivors. They all died of hypothermia long before a SAR team arrived on-site."

If Clint hadn't been sitting, his knees would've given out. "Oh, God," he said, his voice barely audible. "How…" he cleared his throat. "Has anyone told her family?"

"No. The Director suggested, and I agreed, that you might want to do that yourself. You knew her better than anyone."

"Yeah. Of course. When this mission's over."

That brought Hill's head up, her dark eyebrows drawn together. "Clint…"

"When the job is done, _then_ I can deal with personal business. Nat's had my back for years. I won't leave her and Riddle hanging. This should all be over in a day or so. If not…"

Hill pursed her lips and nodded. "Of course."

He rested his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between them, just thinking. A steaming cup of coffee appeared in his field of vision and he took it mechanically, holding it in both hands, letting the warmth seep into his chilled skin.

~~O~~

Back inside the main building, Natasha ran to her room and closed the door, prepared to hide out for the rest of the night, crushed by the death of her fiancé and wracked with guilt that their break-up had driven him to commit suicide. She changed into pajamas and had just begun a martial arts routine when she was disturbed by a knock on the door. A quick glance at the clock, and she smiled. _Right on time._

Taking a small bottle from the bedside table, she put a drop of the liquid in each eye. It stung, making her eyes water enough to appear that she'd been crying. She quickly mussed the bed then did the same to her hair on her way to the door. Putting on a sad face and dabbing her eyes with a tissue, she opened the door, and as she'd suspected, Margaret was there.

"I know you would rather be alone, but I've come to offer comfort, _mon amie_." The younger woman swept into the room flourishing a bottle and a covered plate. "I have brought a bottle of Oloroso sherry and two slices of the most decadent chocolate silk pie you have ever tasted."

"That's sweet, Margaret, but…"

"But nothing. We will eat the pie and not worry that it will all go to our hips, and you will tell me stories about your fiancé that will make me cry, _oui?_"

Giving in gracefully, Natasha went into the bathroom and came back with two paper cups. She looked at the bottle dubiously. "Sherry?"

Margaret shrugged as she passed Natasha a fork. "It was all I could find."

Knocking back her drink, Natasha made a face. "That's horrid."

Going to her closet, Natasha rummaged on the top shelf until she located the thing she was looking for. She dumped the sherry out of Margaret's cup, then filled it and her own with Stolichnaya Gold. "To my one true love."

The women tapped cups and drank, again and again.

An hour later, Margaret could barely sit up straight in her chair, and though Natasha pretended to be in the same state, she was far from it. Having been raised on vodka, she could more than hold her own against anyone.

Margaret planted her elbow on the table and dropped her head into her palm. "Sho, Lili(hic)anya. Tell me 'bout meetin' the love o' yer life."

"Doan wanna talk 'bout him. Makes me s-s-sad."

"Pleeeease? It was jus' me 'n my père after Mère died, 'n he wouldn't talk 'bout her. An' I haven't had a man look at me th' way Monsieur York looked at you in a long time."

Feeling herself give in, Natasha sorted through all the good memories to find one that would appease her companion. Sadly, the bad times far outnumbered the good. Or maybe that was a good thing. It would be easier to choose. She dragged a finger through the bits of chocolate sticking to the plate, sucked it off then began her tale. "When I was fifteen, I found a courtyard hidden deep in the woods behind the boarding school where I was a student. It became my sanctuary. A place where I could just be myself and not what others expected me to be. Then one day, my refuge was invaded…by a _boy_. He was handsome and kind and before summer was over, we'd fallen in love…"

Natasha stopped when a light snore came from Margaret. _Finally! I thought she'd never go to sleep._ Unwilling to leave her in such an uncomfortable position, Natasha gave a small shake. "Margaret, come lay down."

"Not sleepy. Wanna hear more 'bout whaz-his-name." But she didn't resist when the spy urged her over to the bed. Having already turned down the covers, Natasha sat the other woman on the side of the bed, removed her shoes and lay her down. She was asleep again before the covers were pulled up to her neck.

Natasha busied herself cleaning up the mess, brushing her teeth and preparing for bed. She turned off the bathroom light and that left only the lamp on the bedside table to illuminate the room. Not that she needed it, but having it on made her feel like the person everyone else thought she was.

Taking a blanket from the closet, Natasha walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down, spreading the blanket over herself. Just as she was about the fall asleep, Margaret started mumbling in her sleep. It didn't bother Natasha. She could sleep anywhere, even with Clint who thrashed around in his sleep so much it was like sharing the bed with an active volcano. He also talked in his sleep, though he seldom said anything worth remembering, and Margaret was no different. Before long, Natasha had fallen asleep too.

~~O~~

While Natasha and Margaret were getting drunk, the doctor sat in her office finishing reports. Tilda would be in for the test results of the blood sample from the plane. She dreaded telling her that the news wasn't good. Of course Tilda could take a different view. For her, it could be the best news she had in a long time. The doctor looked up, her frown deepening when the door to her office was opened. Tilda walked in and sat down without invitation. It annoyed the doctor when people acted as if she wasn't worth a little common courtesy.

"Well?"

The older woman turned the monitor so Tilda could see the results. "It's as you suspected."

The effort that Tilda put into appearing unaffected by the information didn't go as far as she obviously thought. Excitement shone in her eyes and in the quickening of her breath. "Thank you. It's just what I was looking for."

"And that is?"

Getting to her feet, the younger woman glared. "None of your concern. Destroy all record of the tests and my request. And you're not to tell anyone what we've discussed."

"You're hardly in a position to give orders."

Going to the door, Tilda turned with her hand on the knob. "Upcoming events will prove you wrong."

"What do you mean?" The glare turned into a smirk. It made her pretty features turn ugly showing the doctor that the other woman would not age well.

"Changes are coming. Adapt or die."

Getting to her feet so quickly the chair rolled back and hit the wall, the doctor bit out, "If you think I'm taking orders from the likes of you…"

"You won't have a choice, old woman. Not unless you want to be out of a job." At the door, Tilda turned. "If you'd like to submit your resignation, I'll see that it's accepted."

Deep in thought, the doctor forwarded the information on the screen to Tilda's personal cell phone then, she set about removing all traces of the testing that had been done. Or made it appear that she'd done so. One should always have a contingency plan in place, especially when working for a terrorist organization.

~~O~~

Tilda left the clinic, moving quickly through the halls, her excitement growing with every step until she could barely contain it. She would get out of that horrible maintenance position into one more fitting, _and_ Dante would be hers.

When Jesse and Emerson approached her about the takeover, she hadn't hesitated to join them. At least _they_ knew how to reward loyalty and hard work. With a few words in the right ear, she would soon have everything she wanted. Coming to a halt in front of Dante's door, she smoothed her hair into place and pasted on a smile. Her knock was answered immediately.

"I don't feel like company right now, Tilda."

"This won't take long." He stood back to let her in, closed the door and waited for her to speak. This would be easier than she thought. "As of now, you're not to see her ever again. The woman who was here the other night."

Dante blinked at her, his eyebrows drawing together as he tried to puzzle out her meaning "Pardon?"

"You heard me. Break up with her tonight. Tell her that you're in love with someone else, you're tired of her, you're married or gay. I don't care. Just do it tonight. Then, tomorrow night, you and I will go out to dinner for our first date. On our third date, we will check into the Dumont and spend the night in each other's arms."

"And if I say no?"

Taking her phone out, she cued up the info downloaded from the doctor's computer and waited impatiently while he read it. And as he read, his features became more and more expressionless. She didn't like it when he did that because she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

He handed her the phone, nodding. "I'll make a dinner reservation."

"I'm glad we could come to an agreement, Dante." She went to the door, speaking over her shoulder. "And stay away from Liliana as well. I don't want the embers of that old flame starting another fire now that her fiancé is gone."

~~O~~

Anton paced the floor after Tilda left in case she came back then called Natasha on their secure line. "Tilda was here. You were right."

"_Didn't waste any time, did she?_"

Chuckling, Anton went to the dresser, took out his pajamas and tossed them on the bed. "No. And now that she thinks I've given in to her demands, it'll be a simple matter to get her to tell me what I want to know."

"_You only have to keep her busy for a few days."_ He could hear the smile in Natasha's voice.

"Good plan. By the way, I have to break up with my girlfriend, and _you_. You'll both be devastated, of course."

A small chuckle came through to him. "_Of course. What about…_"

"I'll think of something. Think Barton made it okay?"

"_Yes. Hill was already waiting for him at the drop zone. No pun intended._"

He shut down without signing off when someone knocked again. The phone was tucked back into its hiding place before he answered the door.

~~O~~

Morning came and Natasha awakened to the sound of retching. Tossing back the blanket, she yawned and stretched. The toilet flushed and the water came on in the sink, covering Margaret's groaning. Natasha's feet had just touched the floor when Margaret came out to stand in the doorway.

Taking Margaret's hand, Natasha led her to the table and forced her to sit. She then went into the bathroom, returning shortly with a fizzing cup of water. "Drink," she ordered.

In too much pain to argue, Margaret did as she was told, grimacing at the taste. "Oh, that's awful!" She peered at Natasha curiously. "You had more than I did. Why don't _you_ have a hangover?"

"I never get them. Good genes, I guess." Though she said it with a wry grin as if it were a joke, it was the truth. The serums she'd been given as a child had eliminated such things. Not getting hangovers had been one of the unforeseen side effects. She also never suffered from the minor ailments most people were plagued with. She was also immune to many poisons and substances that were toxic to the average human.

On one mission, she and Clint had to sneak out of town and hide in the woods at the edge of the city when their covers were blown. Both had walked through the same patch of poison ivy. She had been fine, but spent the next two weeks applying calamine lotion to the places Clint couldn't reach. It had gotten on his scalp too, and he'd been forced to shave his head. Some of the other agents made fun of him, but Clint would just grin and walk away with a beautiful girl on each arm.

Watching Margaret rub her temples trying to ease the pain, Natasha felt bad that the young woman would be taken into custody with the rest of L'Assemblée. Unlike the others, Margaret was sweet and unworldly. She'd only gotten involved with the group because she had nowhere else to go.

Making a quick decision, Natasha scribbled an address on a sheet torn from the pad on the table and pressed it into her hand. "Take this."

"What is it?"

"No time." She urged Margaret to her feet, guiding her to the door. "Leave _now_. Go to this address. Tell the person who answers the door 'You're in good hands with Allstate.'"

The poor girl looked confused though some of the pinching around her eyes and mouth had gone away with her headache.

"But _why_, Liliana?"

Natasha stuck her head out the door. Seeing that the hall was empty, she looked Margaret in the eye, gripping her arms above the elbows. "No time to explain. Go! Don't go back to your room or stop to talk to anyone. And whatever you do, do _not_ come back to this place. Ever! Promise me, Margaret."

"I-I promise." Margaret started down the hall, stopping at the corner to look back at Natasha before hurrying on her way.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Many, many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta honors for this fic. She's a great friend, and I don't say this often enough. God has blessed me with her and her family as friends.

Namaste,

~Sandy

**Avengers**

**The Hidden Courtyard**

**Chapter 10**

Two days after Clint's "demise", Anton went for a long walk in the woods to "clear his head." Inside the main building, most gave him a wide berth, and he didn't blame them. He was present at both of the recent aircraft incidents. The superstitious ones believed he was a jinx. The rest either went along for the ride or had a healthy sense of self-preservation.

He arrived at the designated area at the appointed time, all senses alert, spinning around at the voice coming from behind him.

"Right on time, Riddle."

He hadn't heard the archer's approach. "You too, Barton. Everything in place?"

Clint nodded, his eyes flitting across the landscape keeping watch. And in those eyes Anton saw a trace of sadness that hadn't been there before he jumped from the Cessna. His left hand fingered the bow string and strap that crossed his chest. Natasha told him about Clint's affinity for the unconventional weapon, pointing out that he'd helped stop the alien invasion with just a bow, a quiver of arrows and _no_ superpowers. Anton wanted to see Clint in action first hand. If this take-down didn't go as smoothly as he hoped, he might just get his wish. "SHIELD and MI6 are ready when you give the word."

"Good." Anton hesitated before asking the next question. "Barton, you and Natalia have worked together a long time."

Clint's forehead crinkled with what looked like annoyance. "What of it?"

"In all that time, has there been anyone special for her?" The silence from his companion went on so long, Anton didn't think he was going to respond or would say it was none of his business. Then, finally, he did speak.

"No."

"What about you?"

Again Clint hesitated, taking a deep breath as if trying to decide how much to give away. "We're friends and partners. That's it. Our physical relationship ended a long time ago. A flash in the pan. Started hot and burned out quickly. Nat is…she's complex. Her upbringing was not what anyone would call normal, and her present life is far from it. Any other details you'll have to get from her. Wouldn't count on it though."

"Understood. One more question. The two of you keep making references to Budapest. What happened?"

Clint shook his head, fighting a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "She's a better storyteller than I am. Ask _her_."

"I will."

The two men parted, Anton back to the estate, and Clint to his post to wait for the signal. Now that everything was in place, their plan could be put into motion with just a word. But what the bad guys didn't know was that every single one of them would be taken out of circulation before dinner. That is if plan A went off without a hitch. If there was a plan B on the books, it hadn't been shared with Anton.

He waited another fifteen minutes before returning to the estate, going straight to Jesse. Emerson was there as well. He greeted both men with a nod. "They're ready when you give the word."

The men looked at their watches, Jesse saying, "Their plane lands at sixteen hundred. Make certain your people stay out of sight until then."

"Don't worry. They've done this before." With a nod, Anton left Emerson and Jesse alone to finalize plans that would never come to fruition.

In his room again, Anton changed into dark clothing. Opening the false bottom of his suitcase, he took out several items that would've aroused suspicion if anyone in L'Assemblée had seen them. The glasses he hooked into the pocket of the jacket. They looked like ordinary sunglasses, but were much more than that. With the touch of a button, he would have access to a HUD and be jacked into the frequency of the assault team awaiting the order to commence operations.

He clipped his service weapon to his right hip. The ammo he shoved into the pockets of his cargo pants. Tugging the sides of his jacket together, he zipped the front and left his room, arriving outside the main security office moments later. This is where the fun would begin.

Anton's watch beeped to announce the hour, though not the one that Jesse was expecting. It was time. He slipped on the glasses and tapped the left earpiece. "Gold Leader, this is Red One. How do you read?"

"_Five by, Red One. We're good to go._"

"Roger that, Gold Leader. Red One to Red Two."

Natasha's voice came to him, steady and strong. "_This is Red Two. Ready when you are._"

"Copy, Red Two. All units. Commence with Operation French Lily on my mark." He counted off five seconds in his head. "Mark!"

~~O~~

Over the next two days, Natasha played the part of a woman bravely carrying on with her life following the tragic death of her fiancé. One or two asked about Margaret, and Natasha gave them the excuse that she wasn't feeling well, giving the impression that it was a "female issue" without coming out and saying so.

Once the members of L'Assemblée were rounded up, Natasha would follow up on Margaret. The contact she sent her to would see to it that the girl was well taken care of and that she entered a business that was less likely to get her killed.

To prepare for the coming fight, Natasha did an intense workout and cleaned her weapons. When it was time, she got into her black jumpsuit and put on was her gloves, snugging them down into the spaces between her fingers. Made of the same thin yet durable material as her jumpsuit and Hawkeye's uniform, they fit her like a second skin. The last to go on were her Widow's Bites. Another feature of the jumpsuit was the grounding properties for when she used the Widow's Bites, though that wasn't an exact term. If she were to be hit by a Taser, special fibers woven into her clothing and gloves would be store and shunt the electricity back into the Bites again allowing her to recharge on the run and protecting her from the effects.

Climbing through the vent in the bathroom, Natasha vacated her room without looking back. Anything she left behind could be replaced. She'd brought nothing on this mission that had value. She also had very little in the apartment she kept in New York City related to sentimentality. A single photograph of the Avengers after the invasion, a few cherished books-first editions that Clint had given her on Christmas or her birthday. Certainly no old family heirlooms handed down from one generation to the next, tarnished and worn, imbued with a sense of history chronicling a family tree.

Shaking her head to rid it of the melancholy that had crept in, Natasha peered through the slats into the clinic. The doctor wasn't about, and Natasha wondered at the woman's motives for joining a crime syndicate. They would find out soon enough once she was in custody.

From inside her top she took a pair of glasses that would provide her with a HUD and contact with the rest of the team. Sliding them on, she activated them just in time to hear Anton say, "_Gold Leader, this is Red One. How do you read?_"

"Five by five, Red One. We're good to go," was Clint's immediate response.

"_Roger that, Gold Leader. Red One to Red Two._"

Natasha took a deep breath and let it out. "Ready when you are, Red One."

"_Copy that, Red Two. All units. Commence with Operation French Lily on my mark._" There was a five second pause then, "_Mark!_"

The duty Natasha had drawn was to get into the secure offices, this time with the means to hack into their database. She wouldn't be able to store it on the small device that Stark had created. Instead, the information would be streamed to the helicarrier where SHIELD and MI6 would painstakingly analyze every gigabyte.

Her first stop would be the office Jesse and Emerson had taken over. Through the door, she could hear Jesse shouting. Opening the door gave her a full view of both men and they of her, if they'd bothered to look.

"Lock it down! Yes, the entire building. Don't be an idiot! We have to clear this up before William and Emily arrive…" Jesse yanked the Bluetooth from his ear. Even from the doorway Natasha could hear the static. That meant Anton had reached the security office and had overloaded their systems. It also unlocked the secure area at the far end of the hall. But first things first.

Emerson saw her and went for his weapon. Flexing her wrist as she raised her left arm, one of the Bites shot through the air to hit him square in the chest, delivering an initial fifty thousand volts and disrupting his body's ability to communicate with its muscles. The voltage dropped to around twelve hundred volts as he fell to the floor unconscious.

Stunned immobile for a millisecond when Emerson was hit, Jesse quickly regained his senses as he too drew a weapon. Natasha didn't give him time to aim. She rushed forward and jumped, wrapped her legs around his neck, and twisted, using that force to take him to the floor. He pressed his hands into the carpet trying to regain his feet. She stopped that with a punch to the side of the head. Jesse wasn't nearly as tough to defeat as Clint had been. Using zip ties, she secured their hands behind their backs.

Turning left out of the office, she entered the secure area, going right to the computer on the first desk. From a compartment on her belt she took a small device similar to the one Stark had used to hack SHIELD, placed it on the monitor and pressed the middle.

The system came on, information scrolling across the screen faster than the human eye could comprehend. But Natasha was long gone by then, on her way to rendezvous with Anton and the advance team.

Jogging down the hall, she came upon a group of four armed to the teeth and ready to do business. Natasha left them in an unconscious heap without breaking a sweat or missing a beat. She tapped the headset. "Red Two to Red One."

"_Go ahead, Red Two._" Anton's voice sounded strained and in the background, she heard fighting and gunfire.

"On my way to the rendezvous point. ETA sixty seconds."

He swore in Russian and fired off a few rounds before responding. "_Roger, Red Two._"

The shooting stopped abruptly, and Natasha recognized Tilda's voice. "_Throw down your weapon, Dante. Now!_"

A thump followed her orders then Anton, obviously trying to defuse the situation, changed to a calm, unruffled tone. "_Put the gun down, Tilda. You don't want to make this worse than it is._"

Tilda scoffed. "_It's already worse. Who are you? Is Dante even your real name?_"

"_My name is Anthony Riddle. MI6_."

Natasha made no noise as she crept to the corner and peeked out to survey the scene. Anton's back was to her. If he hadn't been in the way, she would've taken a shot. But here, the hall was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and he was in the way.

Tilda gestured with the end of the gun held in her right hand. "Whatever your name is, start walking. You're going to be my free pass out of here."

"That won't happen, Tilda. My team has orders to take everyone in. Alive, if possible. But they won't hesitate to shoot, if need be."

To transfer the focus from Anton, Natasha holstered her guns and showed herself. "No one has to die today, Tilda. Let him go. I promise you'll be treated well."

"No! I won't go to prison. I can't."

That told Natasha all she needed to know about the other woman's state of mind. She thought Tilda's recent actions had been fueled by desperation and this confirmed it. Tilda would do whatever she had to in order to get what she wanted. Wisely, Anton remained silent, knowing that anything he might have added would only exacerbate the situation.

One slow step at a time, Natasha walked toward Tilda until she stood beside Anton. "Put down the gun and we'll talk about it."

Natasha was unprepared for what happened next. Tilda began to cry, the muzzle of the gun dipping toward the floor. "No one has _ever _taken me seriously. Not my father, my brother, not Madame Gauthier, and not _you_, Liliana. Not once. And Dante. I just wanted a man to pay attention to _my_ needs, to think of _me_ before himself."

Slowly, an inch at a time, Anton lowered his arms. "I'm sorry Tilda, but I can't be that man."

"Because you're in love with someone else."

He took a step forward, one hand out, silently imploring Tilda to hand over the gun. Natasha could've told him it wouldn't work, and it didn't. With his second step, the weapon came back up, pointed at the middle of Anton's chest, Tilda's finger tightening on the trigger.

The next few seconds happened so fast it took her breath away.

Natasha pushed Anton out of the way just as Tilda squeezed the trigger several times. At the same moment, Anton bounced off the wall and spun in her direction tackling her to the floor causing the fired rounds to hit the walls and ceiling, plaster chips flying in all directions. Above that, the _pffft!_ of an arrow being shot from a bow and the sickening sound of said arrow entering flesh made Natasha cringe inwardly because she knew what it meant. Clint had just saved their lives and had been forced to take another life to do it.

~~O~~

Lying on the floor, his body covering Natasha's, Anton heard the twang of a bow string, a gasp and a thud in quick succession. Chancing a look, Anton lifted his head, seeing Tilda breathe her last. He turned to thank Clint, not seeing him at the end of the hall where he expected the SHIELD agent to be.

"Here."

Rolling off of Natasha, Anton finally located Clint hanging by his knees through a ceiling vent, the bow still in his right hand. "Thanks."

Getting to his feet, Anton helped Natasha up next to him. Clint gripped the edge of the vent and swung down to land a silently as a cat, a smug grin all over his face. "Welcome." He tapped his headset. "Gold Leader to all units. Report."

While Clint received all clear reports, Anton sneaked a peek at Natasha who was studiously ignoring him in a way that said she wasn't ignoring him at all. That maybe she'd been as affected as he by the intimate position they found themselves in when Tilda started shooting. The emotions from years before that Natasha had effortlessly reignited embarrassed him somewhat because he wasn't certain that she felt the same. All pretenses aside, he loved her more than ever, and though he wanted to tell her, he didn't dare. Not yet, and not in front of her partner. Anton wasn't embarrassed by his feelings, but didn't want to make Natasha uncomfortable. Sneaking in another quick glance he was amused to see it was too late for that.

Not long after, the plane carrying William and Emily landed. Anton and Clint, posing as Jesse and Emerson, greeted them on the tarmac then took them into custody without even drawing their weapons. Of course that could've been because of the double squad of armed SHIELD and MI6 agents that had surrounded the plane. The pair, whose real names were obscured by the sheer number of aliases they had used over the years, refused to speak even when threatened. Deprived of legal representation, they would be begging to provide the requested information after a couple of weeks in a prison that no one would admit existed.

Back-up arrived, and returning his attention to the mission, Anton nodded at Clint's order for a room by room search. The three agents parted, each going in different directions. Somehow, Anton had been assigned a slender young woman with dark hair and eyes as his back-up. She didn't speak, just nodded each time he gave an order, her jaws working a piece of gum and occasionally blowing a bubble. He used it to track her state of mind. When she was relaxed, she chewed slowly. Tense? It sped up then stopped suddenly only to start up again when the room was cleared. After a while, it didn't bother him anymore.

~~O~~

The last of L'Assemblée had been taken away leaving Natasha, Clint, Anton and a squad of armed soldiers behind. The squad's job was to keep an eye on the building and question anyone trespassing to see if they were connected to L'Assemblée in any way. The trio of spies were there to wind up loose ends. All that remained was the debriefing that would take place on board the helicarrier.

Clint collapsed his recurve bow, placing it and the quiver carefully into the protective case. The single missing arrow mocked him, a reminder that Natasha hadn't been able to neutralize the threat Tilda created, forcing him to put an arrow through her heart before she killed his friends.

Ending a life was never easy. He'd given Natasha and Anton as much leeway as he could before taking matters into his own hands, not hesitating even a fraction of a second before removing the irrational woman from the equation.

Assuming his place in the pilot's seat, he watched Natasha from the corner of his eye as she made herself comfortable to his right. The co-pilot's main function was to man the rail guns and take over if the pilot became unable to fly. One of the best things about being her partner was that he knew her better than she knew herself, though she would deny it even in the face of empirical evidence. And what he was sensing from her now was that she had something other than flying on her mind.

"Nat?"

"What?" The word came out short and clipped, as though they'd been arguing and she was still pissed at him.

"About you and Riddle…" The way she avoided looking him in the eye was a dead giveaway, telling him he was right about where her thoughts had strayed.

"It was a long time ago." Clint opened his mouth and snapped it shut again when, through clenched teeth, Natasha said, "One more word, Barton and I will kill you in your sleep."

Clint had no doubt that she was deadly serious and, for once, decided that shutting up was the wisest choice. Besides, they'd have plenty of time later to talk. It wouldn't be long before someone told her about the accident and their positions would be reversed.

It had taken him a long time to come to terms with the heinous acts he'd committed while under Loki's influence and now, the guilt was back. Not as potent as before, but there nonetheless. Clint set the auto pilot and went into the back to find Riddle sacked out on the bench thwarting his efforts to get under the MI6 agent's skin by teasing him about Natasha. It annoyed him because now he had nothing to keep his mind off Adele, and he didn't want to think about her right now.

Taking a cue from Riddle, Clint reclined in the work station chair and closed his eyes. "Wake me when we get close, Nat."

Seconds later, he was out like a light and didn't budge until Natasha dumped him out of his seat onto the floor. He leapt to his feet looking around for possible enemies, sagging in relief that Riddle had landed the quinjet allowing Clint an extra few minutes of sleep. And as stated in the Guy's Handbook, Clint acknowledged the act of kindness by punching Riddle in the arm. The MI6 agent responded in kind, neither seeing Natasha rolling her eyes at them.

~~O~~

The debriefing was long over. Clint and Natasha had retired to their quarters for much needed rest while Anton had hitched a ride back to London with Deputy Director Holdsworth.

Natasha slept soundly for nine straight hours, worked out, ate and finished her report on the mission, all before lunch. It was now late afternoon and Clint had yet to make an appearance. Not even for coffee. Like her, he could go days without rest, but then would sleep up to twelve hours or more to make up for it. Though how he could call what he got at night rest the way he thrashed around, she didn't know. She filed it under the heading "Great Mysteries We'll Never Solve" and left it at that.

Or tried to.

Something about today was different, and now that she thought about it, Clint had been acting strange even for him since just prior to the assault on L'Assemblée. He was himself, yet he wasn't. She would give him a couple of days to pull out of it before the usual confrontation.

Or not. What she needed was intel. And who was the one person on this boat who knew everything about everything? With a mischievous grin that Clint would've appreciated had he seen it, Natasha made a call. "It's Romanoff. Got a minute?"

Twenty minutes later, Natasha climbed out onto the conning tower, something that was only possible when the boat was docked. Clint was sitting with his knees up and elbows resting on them, hands clasped between them. He didn't even glance her way when she sat down, her head tilted back to let the wind lift the hair off her face and neck.

The silence stretched on, until Natasha felt it was time to break it. "I heard about Wolf…Adele, Clint. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

She held his hand and he let her. "If you want to talk, I'm here."

This time, he nodded, but didn't respond. What he needed was Natasha's special brand of TLC. No, she wouldn't be hitting him really hard on the head. This time, the situation called for subtlety. Opening the thermos she brought with her, Natasha poured a measure of the contents into two cups and handed one to Clint. He gave her nod of thanks and took a big gulp…and immediately began choking. "What the _hell_, Nat. Are you trying to _poison_ me?"

"Sissy. It's Irish coffee. More Irish than coffee. Just the way you like it." With a cheeky grin, Natasha tossed back the contents of her cup, following it up with, "Ahhh! That hit the spot."

Clint finished off what was in his cup then held it out for a refill. "You might've warned me."

"Now what would be the fun of that?" They sipped quietly for a while.

"At least one of us is having fun." Extending his cup for another refill, Clint sighed. "What?"

There were disadvantages when two people knew each other so well, but the benefits far outweighed them. "Don't feel guilty. I'm sure Adele knew you loved her."

Clint's eyes dropped to his lap then back to that spot six inches in front of his face that he seemed to find so fascinating. "That's just it. I don't…didn't. It was a relationship of convenience for both of us. I _did_ care, but wasn't in love with her."

"Did she feel the same?"

The shoulder nearest her went up then down. Just an inch. "Never discussed it. _Her_ rule. Not mine."

"Sorry. Again."

He chose body over verbal language by shrugging both shoulders. The signal that he didn't want to talk anymore. Natasha didn't blame him. After the invasion and his part in the deaths of so many agents, he'd had more than his share of talking about his feelings with one therapist after the other. In the years since the invasion, Clint had seen at least six different shrinks. The reason being that, after a while, he got pissed off at the questions and suggestions that he allow himself to hypnotized. A couple even made the monumental mistake of prescribing medication. What he told them they could do with their pills wasn't repeatable in public. And the sessions always ended with Clint slugging the men and telling the women to "piss off." Eventually, Fury and the Council gave up.

Natasha offered Clint the last of the alcohol laced coffee, replaced the cap and set it aside. This whole situation with Clint and Adele reminded her of Anton. And no matter how hard she tried, he just wouldn't stay out of her thoughts. She would banish him to the nether regions of her brain, but he kept finding his way out again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Clint.

"All that **** with Loki has made me think." His voice was soft, as if he were talking to himself and was letting her listen in. "I don't want to die a lonely old man whose only friend is…"

"…a lonely old woman?"

He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Wasn't gonna say that."

The shroud of gloom that surrounded them lifted just enough for Natasha to peek underneath, and what she saw didn't surprise her. It was a vision of Clint and her, wrinkled and white-haired, sitting side by side in mismatched rocking chairs. And all they had to show for their lives was a collection of old weapons and the scars on their bodies chronicling victories and failures. There were no children or grandchildren in this scene. Just a dog that slept between them during the day and with Clint at night. Such a sad, sad life.

And suddenly, like the sun coming out after a long, hard rain, Natasha saw the light. Energized, she got to her feet and slapped Clint on the shoulder. "Come on. I need a ride."

Startled, Clint stood up and followed her down to the catwalk, he quick strides carrying her to the stairs so fast he jogged to catch up. "Where we goin'?"

"Not sure yet."

"Na-at!"

At the bottom of the stairs, Natasha turned left then right at the main corridor that led to the bridge. She had a short whispered conversation with one of the techs, coming away with a smile that wouldn't stay down no matter how hard she tried.

Clint caught up with her as she was coming out of her room. "Nat! Nat, stop!"

"Can't. Don't want to be late."

"For what?"

He was becoming exasperated with her non-answers so she put him out of his misery. "The rest of my life."

The dumbfounded look that came over him made her laugh. Her first real laugh in a long time. "Um…what?"

Leading the way onto the deck and over to one of the helijets, she waited until they were in the air to explain. "I thought I knew it all, Hawkeye. But these past couple of weeks I've learned that there's a difference between just living and living _well_."

"And what brought about this epiphany? Don't tell me. Riddle."

"Anton. Yes. I fell in love with him when I was fifteen, and I still love him." She took a deep breath, and for the first time in years, the weight that had settled over her chest the day she'd left Anton all alone in their hidden courtyard lifted. "I just hope it's not too late."

Across the small space between them, she could feel the restraint Clint employed to keep from making one of his smartass remarks. Silently, she thanked him for it.

A short time later, the helijet landed in the woods outside of Volgograd. Reaching into the back, she grabbed her bag, unbuckled her harness and opened the door. Before leaving, she leaned over and kissed Clint on the cheek.

Standing in the tall grass, she waved as her partner and best friend flew away. When he was lost to sight, she broke into a jog, coming up on the one place she'd felt true happiness, her smile growing bigger with each step.

Pushing open the rusty gate, she looked around, but didn't see what she'd hoped. "Anton?"

"Natalia?" Anton rose from the bench, their bench, slowly, his dark eyes big and round. "What are you…"

Dropping her bag, Natasha ran forward and threw herself into his arms. He stumbled back a step at the impact, both arms instinctively holding her close. Not giving him a chance to speak, she kissed him long and hard. When the need for oxygen became desperate, Natasha eased back to look into his eyes.

Setting her on the ground, Anton kept hold of her hand, urging her to sit beside him. "Natalia…"

Natasha stopped him with two fingers across his lips, removing them to press her lips to his once more. She parted them just far enough to whisper, "_Y__a tebya lyublyu._"

Taking Natasha's hand, he tugged, and she willingly allowed herself to be draped over his lap. Anton wrapped her in his arms, smiling with happiness. "_Ya tozhe__tebya lyublyu._" Parting their lips again, Anton rested his forehead against Natasha's. "So, tell me about Budapest."

**The End**


End file.
